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HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE 


ON 



TWO HUNDRED POUNDS A YEAR. 

($ 1000 .) 


By MRS 


:s. Barren, 


THIRD AMERICAN EDITION, FROM TOE 

THIRTY-SIXTH THOUSAND, LONDON. 

I 




LORING, IP-ublislier 

319 WASHINGTON gTBEET, 

BOSTON. 

1866 . • 


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Printed and Stereotyped by 
ROCKWELL AND ROLLINS, 
122 Washington St., Boston. 





AMERICAN PREFACE. 


Tms fascinating little autobiograpy of married life has had an 
unparalleled success in England, 

THIRTY-SIX THOUSAND~ COPIES 

having been sold in the short space of one year. It is as charming 
a story to read as its companion, “ Our Farm of Four Acres, and the 
Money we made by it,” and like that will be equally popular in 
America, although neither were written expressly for this meridian. 
£200, or $1,000, represents the income of a very large class in this 
country. 

The earnest wish of every young wife is to have a house of her 
own, and a chance to show her husband how well she can keep it. 
The inability to get, or to retain, good “ help ” often proves a serious 
drawback in the beginning. 

o o 

Mrs. Warren’s aim in this story is to impart, in a pleasing manner, 
a practical knowledge of the essential requisites for successful house¬ 
keeping with a moderate expenditure of money, and to adviso and 
instruct the inexperienced young wife so that she, and not the servant , 
shall rule the house. 

The spirit of the book is universally needed just now, and Prof. 
Blot, in practical experiments, lectures and magazine articles, is 
arresting the attention of the ladies in our prominent cities. lie 
appeals to those with liberal incomes; this to those with limited 
incomes. 

If every young house-keeper will read this “Experience ” thought¬ 
fully, and embody in her daily life the spirit (not the letter) it 
teaches, she will find her burden lightened, her trials less, and hei 
home made more joyous and attractive. 

3 

. ' 

) 



I 





PREFACE. 


Too frequently liglit-hearted, happy young wives, are suddenly 
sobered into earnest thoughtfulness, or into peevish discontent, 
according to their temperament, — within, perhaps, the first year of 
their wifehood, — simply from not knowing the value of money 
before they have taken the irrevocable step which is to be the bane 
or the happiness of their lives. Two hundred pounds a year seem 
ample funds wherewith to commence house-keeping, — so think the 
inexperienced, — and thus thinking they insensibly permit small 
sums to run away with the greater part of their income; and how 
little can be spared for other than bare necessaries the table of 
expenditure given at p. 12 will show. Nevertheless, if a young 
wife be handy with her needle, and has had experience under her 
parents’ roof, she will find two hundred pounds per annum a sum 
all-sufficient to steer her matrimonial craft safely over shoals .^nd 
breakers, provided always that love sits at the helm. Not pas¬ 
sion, not caprice, least of all indifference; for the rose of summer 
could as soon bloom in the Arctic zone, as love dwell where the 
cold heart is reflected in the chilling aspect or careless action. 

To be able to sing, to play, to dance, or paint, is not actually 
needed in order to live comfortably, but all are very desirable 
acquirements, and a home where these accomplishments can be 
made subservient to social intercourse is far more charming, and 
more variedly interesting, than where a woman is a mere household 
drudge. And for this reason only, if for no other, a girl should 
devote some portion of her time to acquire or to retain them. But, 
to fit herself to become a happy wife and mother, she must not be 
ignorant of any household duty, any domestic art. 

To know how to make and mend clothes, to wash, to bake, to 
cook, — economically and well, — to clean and scour, should not be 
deemed by her unimportant matters; on the contrary, this knowl¬ 
edge is the oil by which the domestic machinery effectively and 
noiselessly revolves in its daily work. It is true she may never 
actually perform the work herself, but in the present day she must 
certainly teach her servant, or there will be no comfort in her 
house. . * 

“ The eye of a mistress will do more work thap both her 
hands-” 

“ She looketk well to the way of her household, and eateth not tho bread of idle¬ 
ness.” 


6 




6 


PREFACE. 


s The false pride which leads captive many a young girl or wife, 
whose heart would leap to do that which is right but for an imag¬ 
inary “Mrs. Grundy” who rules over most of us, more or less, 
should be cast aside as low and vulgar. The mistress with a mod¬ 
erate income who thinks it beneath her to do any household work, 
is but imitating a very low class of servants who, when asked to 
clean knives, or to wash, very complacently replies, “ I’ve allays 
been ’spectable, and had no call to do sich things,” and thereupon 
refuses point-blank to undertake a situation where such work has 
to be done. It is not worth while for any mistress to copy her 
maid-of-all-work (delusive term!), and think it is derogatory to her 
dignity to perform any needful duty. 

It is said that the race of good servants has died out, leaving 
no successors. And why is this ? it may be asked. Because their 
teachers have died with them. Untaught young mistresses are 
incapable of teaching. 

The consequences of this lamentable ignorance of household 
matters are to be greatly deplored, for while girls are so thriftless 
and manifestly so unfitted for managing a house young men cannot 
marry—it must not be said “will not.” It is impossible, with the 
luxurious and idle habits which have been cherished by both sexes, 
that they can do so. 

The misery too often attendant upon the married state, where the 
husband is not a selfish man, is frequently induced by the wife’s 
incompetent management and the irritability of both in conse¬ 
quence, whence ill-health is sure to follow. By these two circum¬ 
stances alone a sickly race is perpetuated, and the lives of both 
husbands and wives soured for all happy purposes. These are not 
God’s dispensations; they are self-created. But, should a girl 
choose a selfish husband, then her fate is to be pitied, for none can 
tell the life-long misery which such a union entails. 

In domestic, as in other matters, much valuable help may be 
derived from reliable and practical works of information, but to the 
theory thence obtained must be carried observation and effort. 
Each household, with its more or less and very opposite i*equire- 
ments, needs a different ordering, but the great principles for 
ruling, directing, and acting, must ever remain fixed. These have 
been insisted on as being vitally important in this little work — 
“How I Managed my House on Two Hundred Pounds a 
Year.” 

This sum is large by comparison with thousands of incomes, 
which are much less. But, to make the most of any working-man’s 
or clerk’s income, a girl, if she be the wife of either, must be 
educated to cook, wash, make, and mend, if she would have peace, 
comfort, and respectability; also, she must have other and more 
refined accomplishments if she would make her home socially 
pleasant, or educate her children, which she must do, or let them 
run wild into every sin to which a vacant mind can tempt them, 
thus inviting upon her own head every condemnation. 


PREFACE. 


7 


Daughters! diligently and zealously learn and practice every 
domestic duty and every feminine accomplishment; so will lovers 
eagerly seek you without fortune or other adventitious circum¬ 
stances, and no longer will they say, “We cannot marry; our 
income will not suffice.” 

Wives! if you would retain your husbands’ love with a deeper 
affection than when in its youthful freshness, cultivate every win¬ 
ning charm of mind and manner, every grace of proper attire, but 
let your household management be such as shall insure comfort, 
pleasure, and recreation, and your own knowledge of simple 
cookery that which shall not only tempt the appetite, but as much 
as possible insure health, by banishing indigestion and all the evils 
which arise from it. 

London, November, 18G4. % 

From the date of the first edition of this little work, thirty-six 
thousand copies have been called for. The author is much gratified 
by the favorable reception of her efforts. 

London, August, 1865. 



































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HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE 
ON TWO HUNDRED POUNDS A YEAR. 


- - 4 •• ■ 

CHAPTER I. 

ILL-MANAGEMENT-DEBT-TABLE OF EXPENDITURE-TRUST¬ 

ING TO A GIRL’S HELP ; DEATH IN CONSEQUENCE. 

i 

It seems an odd thing, and possibly a presumptuous one, 
to narrate a history of the pitfalls and troubles of early mar¬ 
ried life, arising solely from having no skill in the expenditure 
of a limited income. 

Married very young, and when I knew nothing of the cost 
of any article of provision, I thought my husband’s income a 
mine of gold, quite sufficient for all needs, and to spare, and . 
■wondered very much at the end of the first j^ear of our mar¬ 
riage that I could not quite make both ends meet. My hus¬ 
band was most indulgent, for I had no secrets from him; and, 
indeed, I felt it a great relief to say, u My dear, Ellen’s wages 
are due for this quarter, and I have no money to pay her.” 

IJe looked up from some papers he had been arranging, and 
said, “ How is this, little one? Where is all the money gone 
to? ” 

I immediately burst into a flood of tears. “ Indeed, I don’t 
know,” I answered, sobbingly; “I did the best I could with 
it.” 

He took me tenderly in his arms, and when my trouble had 
a little gone off, said, “ Now, tell me all about it.” 

“Oh!” said I, not answering his request, “why did you 
not look at the bills — why did you let me spend the money 
so fast ? ” 

“ Because, dear Milly, I thought you a perfect little house¬ 
keeper. The home I took you from was so orderly, so well 
managed, and your little brothers and sisters obeyed you so 



10 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

lovingly — what could I think, but that for all occasions you 
were a little gem of ‘ lustre rare ? ’ And now, dear, tell me 
your troubles, that I may help you.” 

“Oh! I cannot pay Ellen’s wages, and I owe for this dress 
and some other things ; and I am not sure that I shall be able 
to pay Hardman, the butcher.” 

“ Now, then, let us see. Ellen, two pounds ten-” 

“ Yes ; and Hardman quite eight pounds.” 

“ Well, and the dress.” 

“ Oh! it is not that only, but there are other things that 
come to sixteen pounds.” 

My husband looked grave — ay, graver than I had ever 
seen him ; his arm relaxed in the grasp in which it held me, 
finally he withdrew it, and held his head between his hands. 
“ Speak, Fred,” said I; u oh! speak, and do not be angry.” 

“ I am not angry, child, but this is sad; I did not dream 
of this,” was his reply. 

“ But you will be able to pay it?” I asked. 

“Pay it? Oh, yes ; but at wffiat a risk ! You know your 
father would not give his consent to our marriage without I 
insured my life for a thousand pounds, as lie considered that, 
though I might become a rich man when I had fully entered 
into practice, yet death sometimes sadly interfered with our 
brilliant schemes — and he was right. Now, here is the no¬ 
tice from the assurance office, that my payment for the next 
year falls due in fifteen days ; if I discharge your bills, I can¬ 
not pay this without encroaching on our next j^ear’s income. 
It is fortunate that I have reserved the money for the rent and 
taxes. Dry up your eyes, dear, and be cheerful. I cannot 
bear to see you thus.” 

“ But, Fred, will you pay the bills all through the next 
year? I don’t want to have any money.” 

“Darling, this must not — cannot be. It is out of my 
power to order the daily dinners — to look after the scraps, 
regulate the laundry expenditure, and control the thousand 
and one trifles which, however, at the end of the }^ear make 
up the whole sum of two hundred pounds. So courage, little 
one, try the next year; we shall do, if God gives us health.” 
And thus the matter dropped. 

The end of the next year came, and a little daughter was 
added to our comfort. The last evening of the old year came 
steadily on. I will tell my husband now, thought I; he can¬ 
not be angry that I cannot pay this bill; I have spent so much 



CONSEQUENCES OF GETTING INTO DEBT. 


11 


for our little treasure. And so,. and so, and so it came out 
that I now owed twenty pounds more than I could pay, not¬ 
withstanding that I had pinched here and there, till sometimes 
my life became an utter weariness, lighted up only by my 
husband’s sunny smile and cheerful light-heartedness. 

This time there was no fondling, no half-measures. 

“ We cannot pay this,” said he. “What is to be done? 
We are not only careless, but sinful; we are dishonest. 
Tradesmen have trusted us on the faith of our good name. 
The wretch who steals bread to satisfy his hunger is not to be 
condemned as we are.” He was silent for some time, then 
said, wearily, “ Put the bills away, and tell me when they are 
called for. The next night, as he was fondling and caressing 
our little one, he suddenly said, — 

“ Little wife, would you like to go to London? ” 

“ Oh, yes, very much ; but what do you mean?” 

“ Richard Fenton has been ill some time, and is ordered to 
the south of France ; he wants me to take care of his practice 
for him — he thinks I may like a change, as everybody seems 
so peaceable here, and not inclined to go to law, that I may 
as well do some good for him, and says that he has let his 
house in some square until his return in the autumn ; but he 
sends me a cheque for fifty pounds. We shall, therefore, have 
to find our own residence.” 

“But house-rent will be more expensive in London than 
here, will it not ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, it will be trebled, though otherwise, perhaps, 
the move might ultimately be of advantage; but we must 
come to a fixed determination not to spend more than a defi¬ 
nite portion of our income upon each requisite. You know, 
that here in the country rre are getting a tolerable house for 
twenty pounds, and the taxes are merely nominal. In Lon¬ 
don we shall find very indifferent shelter for that sum, while 
the taxes may there always be considered at a quarter of the 
rent.” 

“ Now, Fred, will you put down exactly what we ought to 
spend, and we must not go beyond.” 

“ That’s it, little wife,” returned my husband ; “ that’s just 
the point I want to bring you to. Remember — 1 Must not 
go beyond/ For these two years we have spent in advance 
of our income, and but for this timely cheque of Fenton’s we 
must have lost our insurance policy, and this year shall have 
to sell some of our furniture to pay our way.” 


12 


HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“Sell some of our furniture! Oh, no! you do not mean 
that.” 

“ IIow else shall we get out of debt, little wife? We can¬ 
not be so mean as to live on our tradesmen’s charity, and I 
cannot borrow because I cannot pay. You know I have only 
a life-interest in my property; and this circumstance it was 
which made me as anxious as your father on the subject of 
having my life insured. So that, situated as we now are, I do 
not regret moving from here.” 

My heart sank in dismay at the prospect before me, while 
my husband rallied me on my blank look. In a moment a 
vital strength seemed to be poured into my soul; I never 
could tell from whence it came, nor have I ever forgotten it, 
though more than this once in my life I have experienced the 
same in some turning-point of my career. “ Fred, let me 
beg of you to put down instantly all we should spend, and I 
will keep to it,” I said, almost breathlessly, as if afraid to 
lose a moment. My husband smiled at my eagerness, took 
out his pencil, and proceeded to make his calculations while I 
left the room. On my return in half an hour, — 

u Here, Milly,” said he, “ is the sum and total of the whole ; 
but you must sign the pledge to keep within the bounds of all 
here set down, even before you look at the list, or there will 
be nothing more or less than Ruin ! ” 

“ Read it out, Fred; I shall understand it better.” 

“ First come the — 

Rent and taxes per annum .... £25 .0 0 

Coals, candles, and living for ourselves, 
our little one, and servant, 27s.. per 


week, or. 70 0 0 

Wages for servant — only one, mind . 10 0 0 

Insurance for £1000 ...... 25 0 0 

Clothes for myself. 20 0 0 

“ wife., 15 0 0 

“ babe.. , 5 0 0 

For washing.. .. 10 0 0 


180 0 0 

For sickness, or exigencies ..... 20 0 0 

£200 0 0 ” 


I held out my hand for the paper, and again and again I 















SERVANT-GIRL HELP. 


13 


pondered over the different items, and thought the allowance 
for each ample; but then, how was it I had run into debt ? 
there was the riddle. 

“What is it, Milly?” said my husband, seeing the fatal 
scroll had dropped on the floor, and I sat looking in the fire, 
as if reading my future there. 

“ I must think,” I replied; “ give me till to-morrow" this 
time, and I will tell you what it is.” 

To-morrow came, and even before I rose in the morning I 
said, “ Let us go from here, Fred ; I am determined to spend 
no more than my allowance; but you must keep the money, 
and give it to me weekly, as I require it.” 

“ So be it, darling; but only one thing I ask you to sol¬ 
emnly promise me, — ay, as if your life depended on the break¬ 
ing of your vow, — never to go in debt.” 

“ I promise,” said I, as I held out both my hands to him, 
and in that same moment my heart went up to God, even be¬ 
fore my eyes had left my husband’s face, asking for strength 
to keep my resolution ; and again, for the second time in my 
life, I felt an influence certainly not of earth. 

It matters not to relate here all the misery I endured in . 
disposing of part of our furniture, in making the necessary 
preparations for our departure, in taking leave of all our old 
friends (who, by their frequent visitings at what they termed 
a pleasant home, had unconsciously helped to swell our debts) 
and the earliest associations of my childhood ; every favorite 
spot became trebly dear to me as the time drew near for our 
change of life. My parents were not made acquainted with 
our real reasons for quitting the neighborhood, for, indeed, I 
could not bear to have my carelessness canvassed ;. for I felt 
— oh, how deeply ! — that but for the trouble I* myself had 
made, this would never have happened, and I knew the vexa¬ 
tion it would have cost my father at the bare possibility of 
the insurance being dropped. Truly, I felt like a criminal in 
fear of hourly detection; so that when all the adieus were 
said, and we were ready to start, a sense of relief overpow¬ 
ered me, and my spirits were raised in proportion to the 
freedom I felt. Arrived in London, we sought inexpensive 
lodgings until a house could be found. The discomfort, an¬ 
noyance, and expense of this mode of living nearly drove 
me wild. In a fortnight our furniture was to follow. I had 
brought a young girl from the country with me — strong and 
willing, but totally inexperienced. And here was my great 


14 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

mistake; I intended to save from the commencement, over¬ 
looking the proverb “ Penny wise and pound foolish/’ Con¬ 
sequently, instead of having a help in my difficulties, which I 
should have had if I had taken an older and better-qualified 
person, I had, in addition to the care and anxiety of my own 
baby, the torment of a young giddy thing who could not be 
trusted, and who spent every spare moment of her time in the 
kitchen, gossiping upon all our ways and doings in the coun¬ 
try. Before twelve hours had expired, the landlady was fully 
in possession of information reported to her as facts, which 
indeed existed only in the romantic brain of our so-called 
help. 

My husband day after day spent a great portion of his time 
in searching for a house, and the evening brought him home 
weary and out of spirits. 

“ Milly, said he, one night, “ I have traversed wdiole streets 
of dingy-looking houses, and can find nothing that will suit 
you at the rent we have fixed on. To-morrow I shall go a short 
way into the country; a walk of three miles into town and 
out in the evening cannot hurt me; indeed, I think I shall 
. benefit by the change. You had better go w r ith me to-mor¬ 
row ; our search may be more successful.” 

“ But my baby, Fred ; I cannot trust her with Ann, she is 
so giddy. You really must go alone.” 

“ Oh, for one day surely she cannot hurt. • Ask the land¬ 
lady to give an eye to her.” 

I saw that my husband had set his mind upon my accom¬ 
panying him, so I consented, though with extreme reluctance 
— an ominous foreboding seemed to oppress me. However, 
in the morning my babe looked so well and cheerful, and Ann 
made so many promises that she would be careful of my treas¬ 
ure, and attentive to her little wants, and the landlady assured 
me again and again that she would “ take care of the dear 
baby as if it were her own,” that I set out with something of 
confidence on our house-hunting expedition. Oh ! the misery 
of that day! Many miles we must have walked, still unsuc¬ 
cessful in our search. Houses there were plenty, but in w r hat 
appeared to me such squalid neighborhoods — the children 
running in and out of the open doors munching bread and 
butter, building grottoes of oyster shells, shouting, and kick¬ 
ing ; the mothers gossiping at each other’s doors, caring noth¬ 
ing for the din, and occasionally adding to it by calling to 
their rebellious urchins in shriller voices — that my heart sank 


THE SICK CHILD. 


15 


within me. In such a place I could not live; and not one 
place only, but all seemed to be alike in their noise, dirt, and, 
to me, miser}^. I, who had been brought up in every delicate 
refinement — how should I live among such people? The 
day ended, and we strolled wearily home, but carefully ob¬ 
servant of every seeming out-of-the-way nook that might afford 
us our wished-for haven, but without success. Our rooms had 
a cheerful appearance as we entered ; there was a clean hearth, 
a bright fire, our babe looked quite well as she lay quietly 
sleeping in her cot. The only thing I noticed was a kind of 
agitation in Ann, that I attributed to her anxiety to have 
everything right on our return. My husband laughed at my 
fears, the result, he said, of nervousness produced by our 
recent removal. 

“ You see,” he said, “ nothing has gone wrong — to-morrow 
we must go again.” The morrow came ; I left my babe, who 
seemed as well as usual, though not very lively, as she did not 
care for her food, which I attributed to her interest in a new 
toy which we had brought her. At the close of the day we 
had been somewhat more successful in our search, but it was 
at an increase of rent. For a small house, pleasantly situated 
four miles from Lincoln’s Inn, we were asked thirty pounds, 
the rates and taxes w'e were told would be seven pounds — 
perhaps a little more, call it eight — and upon the eligibility^ 
of the house we agreed to consider, and come to a decision 
late on the following day. Home was reached with spirits 
somewhat more buoyant, though seven pounds more than the 
sum destined for the rent and taxes was additional expense, 
to be met — how? That we must think about. Our little 
darling w T as lying asleep, as before, in her cot, her face flushed, 
which I attributed to the heat of the room. There was a con¬ 
fused look about Ann’s eyes which I could not account for. 

“ How has the baby been, Ann?” 

“ Very well, ma’am, only a little cough.” 

“ How did she get it? ” said I. “ Did you take her out to¬ 
day ? I hope you have not disobeyed me ? ” 

u I haven’t stirred outside the door since you went, ma’am.” 

u My dear, you make yourself quite ill about the child. Do 
give me some tea,” said my husband, I thought rather pet¬ 
tishly. The thought was but for an instant, for how had he 
plodded this day, making me rest in every available spot, 
while he went up and down every likely-looking lane or street 
in search of a home ! The tea was finished and taken away, 


16 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

and we were entering into all the details for and against the 
only suitable house we had seen, when suddenly a croup-like 
cough came from the cot, which made us both start and rush 
to our still sleeping child ; again and again that cough came, 
when I took her up and she gasped for breath. To get his 
hat and rush out was but the work of an instant, and soon my 
husband returned with a medical man ; meantime, I had sum¬ 
moned both Ann and the landlady. The moment the doctor’s 
eye fell on the former, she shrank into the darkness of the 
room. My precious babe was even now in convulsions. Ay, 
even after the lapse of these many years does that awful 
scene rise up with the vividness of a present reality. For 
many hours the little sufferer remained in a gasping death-like 
state, the doctor coming at intervals through the night. In 
the morning, when she seemed free from pain, he took my 
husband out of the room and told him there was no hope — 
the child could not live. “ And for this,” continued he, “ you 
may thank that servant of yours. The day before yesterday 
I was called to attend a child laboring under spasmodic croup 
and hooping-cough, when, as I entered, I saw your child in 
the arms of its careless nurse, who was standing over the bed 
watching the contortions of the sick child’s face ; your infant 
had only the girl’s apron thrown over its head. Understand¬ 
ing she did not belong to the house, I told her instantly to go 
home and tell the parents of the child the danger it had been 
in. I am sorry now that I did not inquire where she lived ; 
this sad sorrow might then, perhaps, have been prevented.” 

Oh ! the agony of a mother watching every life-throb of her 
dying child; the convulsion which cramps its little frame, the 
spasm that twists its pallid face, the battling of life and death, 
is a scene, once witnessed, never forgotten. 

My husband, on his return to the room, looked at me with 
an expression which in one moment told me I was soon to be 
childless. “ Is there no hope? ” I whispered. 

“ None but in God; ” and he knelt and took in his the tiny 
hand clenched with pain. In a few moments the labored 
breathing stopped, the drawn form relaxed, all was still; 
gently he removed the pillow from my lap, upon which my 
little angel lay, and placed both on the sofa. For myself, I 
was tearless ; my eyes were hot and dry ; weep I could not, 
neither could I realize my loss. My husband went out and 
brought in the reluctant girl. Silently drawing her into the 
room, — 


17 


a mother’s grief. 

“ Do you know,” said lie, 44 that you have murdered that 
child?” 

She fell on her knees, 44 Oh ! sir, I did not mean to do it. 
I did not know there was any harm.” 

44 Then, why not have told your mistress, as the doctor said 
to you ? ” 

“ Because I was afraid, sir; the doctor looked so angry that 
I was sure if I told that I should be scolded.” 

44 And again I tell you, you have murdered my child ! ” 

The girl looked with such pitiful anguish at me that I said, 
44 That is enough ; you may go, Ann.” For a long time after 
she sat on the step of the stair outside the door, sobbing as 
if her heart would break; but mine was turned to stone, a 
numbing despair settled on me, for welling up within was the 
silent reproach, that if I had not gone in debt this had never 
been, and, instead of this surrounding misery of my own 
making, I had been a happy mother in my own native village. 
I could not say 44 This is God’s hand,” for through my own 
thoughtlessness had this grief overtaken me. 

I spoke no words aloud; with that little dead form before 
me, all the past sprung up as a vision before my eyes. The 
childless father never attempted to console me ; he stood look¬ 
ing with a strong fixedness upon the death of his idol, for 
such she had been. Whether he blamed me at all I never 
knew. We were both roused from our reveries by the knock 
of the landlady. She came to ask us if she could be of any 
use. I was too heart-broken to ask any questions, and could 
only silently motion my assent. My husband left the room, 
and gently and tenderly did the woman perform all the little 
offices for the dead; reverently was it carried out, and laid on 
a spare bed belonging to herself, and close adjoining to our 
own room. She busied herself in every necessary deed ; by 
her summons the undertaker came, and in every way she 
spared us as much as possible. And so the day passed on, 
and the weary night came ; but long ere this my husband had 
joined me. He could weep — could even attempt to console 
me ; but his words fell unheeded, my eyes were dry and hot; 
I could only find relief in pacing the room, and passing the 
sides of my handkerchief through my fingers, till bit by bit it 
was worn away, and bit by bit it fell on the floor unheeded. 
It was near midnight before we left our sitting-room; to¬ 
gether we looked at our little angel, so beautiful in its holy 

2* 


18 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

innocence. I kissed the little lips, and the icy coldness 
thrilled through my frame; but still no relief came. 

My husband slept at intervals through the night, but my 
eyes fixed themselves on the fantastic shadows thrown by the 
gas-lamp outside the window, and, if for a moment slumber 
stole upon me, I was instantly wakened by the fancied sound 
of that croup cough. 

Slowly the morning broke; my brain seethed and boiled; I 
was giddy; I could scarcely stand, and could only find relief 
in motion. Hastily I threw a cloak over my shoulders, and 
with slippered feet went down stairs, forgetting in my hurry 
that my child was close adjoining. As I entered the sitting- 
room, the first thing I saw was my little one’s shoes side by 
side in the chair in which she was accustomed to be seated at 
the table. In a moment nature burst forth — the tears rained 
down in torrents — in every limb I trembled and shook; at 
last I fell across the chair in a faint, but still grasping the 
shoes. Frederick, hearing the noise, came to me, but for hours 
reason tottered on her throne ; all that tender attention could 
do to soothe my grief was done — all that love could express 
in words or acts was lavishly given, but still the sting was 
there; and when I was implored not to be rebellious at God’s 
will, I answered so impetuously, “ It is no act of God ; I did 
it myself,” then, indeed, it was feared I was speaking from 
delirium ; and as the relief of tears became no longer such, I 
seemed to be possessed with perpetual motion. I had no rest 
but in movement; the sight of my dead infant brought only 
remorse, so that when the day of the funeral came, so much 
dreaded by my husband for its probable effect upon me, I al¬ 
lowed the little coffin to be taken away, and myself placed in 
the carriage as one of its mourners without even a struggle. 
My house seemed on my return even more desolate than be¬ 
fore. Almost the first words I uttered were, u Let us go from 
here.” 

“ Shall we take the house? ” asked my husband. 

“What house?” It had entirely gone from my memory, 
to which with some pains it was recalled. “ Oh, no I not 
there; anywhere in a different direction.” 



HOUSE-HUNTING. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

HOUSE-HUNTING J ITS TROUBLES-EARLY RISING — PRACTICE 

MAKES PERFECT — COOKERY. 

Since my babe’s death there was nothing to keep me at 
home ; I could accompany my husband everywhere ; indeed, I 
could only feel relief from sorrow in the most rapid move¬ 
ments ; no distance was too great, and fatigue I knew not. 
Day after day was passed in the same manner, and thus would 
have continued (for all interest in a house had ceased) but for 
a letter which we found one evening on our return, announc¬ 
ing that the furniture was sent ofl*, and would arrive in three 
days. What was now to be done ? I had not yet replaced 
my unfortunate servant, whom I could not bear the sight of; 
we were unwilling to send her home to our own village, where, 
from her lips, our adventures would have done duty for a 
u sensation ” novel; the landlady soon procured her a situa¬ 
tion with some one else who had no baby, and where her feet 
were required to be as nimble as the capabilities of her tongue. 
After reading the letter aloud I abruptly asked, “ What’s to 
be done ? ” 

“ Nothing, dear Milly, while you % are in your present 
humor.” 

“ Then where are we to put our furniture if nothing is to 
be done ? ” I asked. 

My husband, with a kindness more freshly remembered after 
all these years than it was heeded then, got up from his chair, 
gently removed my bonnet and shawl, drew a seat to my side, 
poured me out a cup of tea, and, putting his arm round my 
waist, said, — 

u Let us eat and drink, then talk the matter over. Dear 
wife, you must be brave for my sake.” 

“ For yours? What can I help you in? ” 

“ In everything,” was the rejoinder ; “ but not another word 
upon 4 ways and means ’ until we are both refreshed.” 

I turned suddenly round and looked at my husband; he 
was pale and careworn — I had never observed deep lines in 
his face till that moment. The selfishness and waywardness 
of my temper only on that very day rose giant-like before me. 


i 



20 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“ Frederick, forgive me,” I said. “ I will do what you wish 
and will not repine, if I can help it,” I added, in a lower tone. 

“ Well, then,” said he, laughingly, “ let the test of your 
obedience commence. Eat and drink.” 

Every scene of the evening is indelibly photographed on 
my brain — a new phase of life seemed to open up to me. 
The meal was taken, and its paraphernalia removed ; my hus¬ 
band took the initiative, did not ask me if I liked this or that 
situation, but said, “ The house at thirty pounds, which stands 
in the open space of garden ground, close to the field of forty 
acres, will be just the thing for us. I should think it would 
be some years before the now pretty view can be built out. 
It is only three miles from London, perhaps a little more to 
the office, but that does not signify. The house is just the 
one for us ; I mean the finished one of the four houses near to 
the church which is in progress. We shall have no neighbors 
yet, and I have observed very common people do not live in 
semi-detached houses; they like to congregate, and so ought 
w^e, as a matter of economy, but I think fresh air better than 
very cheap food. So, little wife, this is settled. To-morrow 
I will close with the landlord, and go to the wagon office to 
have the furniture brought on. And now for help. I don’t 
know much about these things ; but as good a servant as can 
be got for ten pounds wages we will have. While I arrange 
with the landlord to-morrow, you must find her. My sister, 
you know, always gets the best she can for the same money, 
and declares it is false economy to hire as a single servant an 
inexperienced girl, even if she could be had for nothing.” 

“ Yes ; my mother was much averse to my having Ann, and 
said that I should find her far more expensive in carelessness, 
breakage, and idleness than she would like to have encoun¬ 
tered. Don’t let us revive the unhappy recollection, or I shall 
be unnerved again.” 

“ Well, well, let it pass ; ’tis hard for the young girls, but 
neither you nor I can be any further made martyrs for their 
sakes ; though, if everybody thought alike upon this point, it 
would be sad for them.” 

“We always had a young girl under old Maggie, you know, 
and she used to say that a young servant should never enter 
service but to be placed under an older one. If Maggie were 
here but for a day, she would say that women, however poor, 
want some little relief, to take their baby off' their hands, and 



MISERIES OF GOING UNPREPARED INTO A NEW HOUSE. 21 

help in some way, so that it would be impossible to act alike 
in every case.” 

Not to lengthen out this story with petty details, interesting 
only to myself, because they were my first experiences, I will 
mention that I found a healthy bright-looking Irish girl will¬ 
ing to be servant of all work. She had a good character for 
honesty, sobriety, cleanliness, and intelligence, and was only 
parted from because the mistress desired to have one of lower 
wages. She could also come to me directly, which was a great 
blessing. 

We had taken our apartments for a month, and, by an over¬ 
sight, had omitted to stipulate for another week after we had 
arranged for the house ; consequently, on the day our month’s 
term expired, we had to vacate the rooms for a new occupant. 
We set out with our luggage from the house which had been 
the scene of so much woe, and, accompanied by Bridget, who 
seemed rather to enjoy the excitement of removal than other¬ 
wise, we arrived at our new home ; but we had all forgotten 
that it was to an empty domicile we were coming, without 
provisions and without coals. Bridget’s services were speed¬ 
ily in requisition, to explore the neighborhood, and find out 
shops, “ for they must be somewhere,” as she remarked, though 
I could only see on the one hand tall houses being erected, 
and on the other, half a mile distant, by the road-side, a small 
shed-looking place, from whose solitary chimney the blue 
smoke was curling with a bravado exultation of comfort. 
“An’ which way will I go?” said Bridget, as she stood in 
the road, looking up and down, for in front was a large ex¬ 
panse of market garden, and behind a field called Forty Acres 
stretched far away, and in the distance we could see men and 
horses ploughing. “ Well, there’s men at the houses out 
there; they’ll tell me,” and ofi* she set as fast as her feet 
could carry her. In half an hour she returned, with her in¬ 
formation that coals and tea and bread could be obtained at 
Fyshe’s,” where the smoke proclaimed that it came from com¬ 
fortable quarters. * 

“ Bun, Bridget, and get all you want; tell them to bring it 
here, and your mistress will pay, for I must go and look after 
the furniture,” said my husband. 

“ It is getting nearly dark, Milly,” he continued; “ j^ou are 
not aftaid to wait here alone till Bridget returns ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! — but-” 

“ Now, little wife, be brave; nothing can harm you. I will 



22 IIOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A TEAK. 

send for some wood and kindle a fire, if I can but find a 
match ; down in the lower regions is the most likely place to 
look, I think.” And away he rushed, singing, 44 There’s a 
good time coming.” He soon returned with an armful of 
shavings and some pieces of wood, left behind by the work¬ 
men, but no match. I then bethought myself of some in my 
writing-desk, so we unpacked a trunk and found them. Even 
at that moment I could not but think how much even one 
single match could add to our comforts. The fire crackled 
and blazed up the chimney, and a sense of returning warmth 
(for it was a cold March day) made me feel less irritable. 
44 If we only had something to eat now, it would be jolly.” 
At that moment Bridget entered, breathless and indignant. 

44 The spalpeens won’t let me have anything without I pay 
for it down, and fetch it away myself; and how can I bring 
coals ? ” 

44 Bridget, come with me,” said my husband, snatching his 
hat from the table ; and before I could remonstrate, both were 
gone. 

For one hour I waited patiently, a prey to sad thoughts and 
grieved retrospection. How different from a month ago! 
Hearing a noise in the road, I looked out on the dimness of a 
misty evening, and could just discern Bridget carrying a well¬ 
laden basket, and a boy with a barrow. The latter was soon 
about to enter the hall with a sack on his back, when Bridget 
cried out, — 

44 Stop, till I see where I’ll put the coals.” 

44 Then I’ll just drop ’em here,” was the reply; and down 
went the coals on the door-step. 

I heard a smack given, and others followed. I then went 
out just in time to save the contents of the basket from ming¬ 
ling with the scattered coal. 

44 Bridget, come in directly, and send the boy away.” 

44 1 ain’t going till I got the basket, for you no’ she n’ther,” 
and he sprang into the passage, and stood with his dirty boots 
on thfe clean white paint at the sides — though this was an 
after discovery. The basket was quickly emptied, and the 
boy dismissed. 

44 But your master, Bridget? ” 

44 Please, ma’am, he said he must go after the furniture, and 
he would soon be back.” 

44 He has gone the wrong way, then,” said I. 

44 Oh, no, ma’am! ’tis ever so much nearer ; at the bottom 


AN AGREEABLE MEAL. 


23 


of the long road (which we cannot see now, though) is Isling¬ 
ton, and master said it would save him quite an hour; an’ I 
saw Patrick, and he tould me we could get everything there.” 

“ And who is Patrick? ” 

u Sure it’s only one of the hoys that worked near me last 
place. So now we’ll make some tea; hut where will be the 
kettle to boil it in ? ” 

We looked at each other in dismay; neither kettle, nor tea¬ 
pot, nor anything to drink tea out of, had we got. 

“ Och, missis, what’ll I do now? There! I didn’t think ! 
Can’t you find anything in your boxes?” said she, sugges¬ 
tively. 

I shook my head as the tears started. I looked round the 
room, taking in at a glance the utter discomfort of my posi¬ 
tion. Bridget followed my eyes, and said, suddenly, “ Well, 
it’s no use crying over spilt milk; I’ll go shovel up the coals, 
if I only had sinse where to find the cellar.” She caught up 
a candle from the other things which had come in the basket, 
lighted it, and went down stairs. I heard her searching about 
for a few minutes, when a shout of delight reached my ears. 
“ Haven’t I got the luck ! ” she exclaimed, as she entered the 
room with a pewter pot and a tin can in her hand, and holding 
the candle against them, as if to show off their fair propor¬ 
tions. I did not see such particularly good luck in her dis¬ 
covery, till she proceeded to put the can containing water on 
the fire, and explained that it was her intention to heat the 
water, wash out the cans, make a kettle of the tin one, while 
the other w'as to do service for a teacup. After these pro¬ 
cesses had been gone through, and the water was boiling fast, 
she took up the tea package, and threw some of its contents 
into the boiling water. I could not say to her that I disliked 
to drink boiled tea, for I was beginning to find out how igno¬ 
rant I was of the world’s ways, and in truth I was faint for 
want of sustenance ; I was in a stage beyond complaint, and 
greedily devoured the mixture my ingenious damsel had 
brewed, expecting to find it with a medicinal flavor, but, on 
the contrary, it was agreeable enough for me to ask for a sec¬ 
ond draught. I attributed the pleasantness of the tea to the 
pewter, for I had heard my husband say that porter was much 
better when drunk from a pewter vessel. I saw Bridget was 
looking wistfully, but, from observation of her character, was 
quite sure I should not be long in ignorance. 

“ I s’pose, ma’am, 3 t ou haven’t a knife anywhere? ” 


24 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“ No, Bridget; you can break the bread. I’m not hungry.” 

“ But how’ll I spread the butter? ” 

“ As you can,” said I, wearied to death. 

“ But sure now, haven’t ye got a knife in your pocket? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” I said, in an altered tone, glad to find I had 
some useful thing, “ here’s a fruit-knife.” 

“ Well, then, you can break the bread and spread the but¬ 
ter, for eat you must. If I’d only had the sinse in me down 
yonder, I’d ha’ got something better.” 

The warm kindness of the girl was not to be borne down. 
I ate to gratify her, and was refreshed. The fire was kept 
burning, and the can of water boiling, in expectation of my 
husband’s return. My watch had stopped, and w r e could not 
mark the time. I sat on a box with a shawl over my head, 
leaning it against the side of the fireplace, overpowered with 
fatigue, and dozing, letting Bridget come and go unques¬ 
tioned. Presently we were startled by a loud knock, and in 
a few moments my husband entered, with the tidings that the 
furniture had not arrived, and was not likely to do so before 
morning. 

“We’ll just have to sit up then all night; anyhow, we’ve 
got some coal,” said Bridget, undismayed by the prospect, and 
busily proceeding to pour out some tea ; and then pushing the 
bread and butter towards him, said, “ Sure it’s that’ll cheer ye 
up.” 

My husband looked first at one, then at the other, then at 
the tea, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. The 
empty house rung with his hilarity. His mirth was catching, 
for Bridget looked cheerily up, saying, “ It might be worse.” 

“ True, Bridget, for we have only to picnic in an empty 
house instead of in the green w r ood and in a thunder-storm.” 

This seemed rather beyond Bridget’s comprehension; for 
she instantty asked, — 

“ But how’ll the missis sleep?” 

“ Very well, my good girl; but what will you do? ” \ 

“ I’ll just make a fire in the big room overhead. I can lie 
down afore it till the morning.” 

My husband gave herdiis thick wrapper, and after, as she 
termed, “ settlin’ the room ” which we were in, she departed ; 
and how thankful I was that her cheery help had been given 
to me! * 

With wrappings and conversation and a bright fire, the 
early part of the night passed away; but the morning chill 


/ 


LAUNDRY WORK. 


25 


awakened ns from our uneasy slumbers before daylight. We 
could hear Bridget throw up a window, and soon she came to 
announce that a heavy wagon was lumbering up the road. 
The good news proved true. Our household goods had at last 
arrived. Now I should again make a home. Exultation in 
the future swallowed up present discomfort. To enter into 
all the mishaps we endured, to enumerate our damaged furni¬ 
ture, our battlings with those we employed u to get a fair 
day’s work for a fair day’s wage,’* and a thousand and one 
other disagreeables, not to mention the constant recurrence to 
our daily account of expenditure, would only render my nar¬ 
rative tiresome without benefiting any person. 

We will now pass over six months; my husband did not 
become Richard Fenton’s substitute in his office for a longer 
period; the practice was sold, and he went abroad. For some 
weeks Fred’s health had failed him, not sufficiently so as to 
call for advice, or to cause alarm, but still he seemed to have 
a disinclination to active exertion. 

“ Something oppresses me; I cannot throw it off, Milly,” 
said he, u and I have need for work.” 

So days and weeks went on, and at length another little 
cherub was born to fill the lost one’s place. “ Now,” thought 
I, “ Bridget’s temper will be tried; if I do the work myself, 
I will have no thoughtless girl as help.” On my restoration 
to my domestic duties, one grave error I quickly fell into. 
The child was scarcely ever permitted to be out of my arms 
day or night. I had been a reasonable mother before ; now 
husband, house, servant, all, were neglected for my infant. 
Bridget was a good, almost invaluable girl in carrying out 
orders, but had no faculty to contrive or think; indeed, the 
want of the latter power was her chief failing, known as well 
to herself as to me. “ If I had but the sinse to think! ” was 
her constant exclamation. Hitherto our dinners had been 
neatly and nicely served, and our expenses kept within 
bounds. No washing had been put out excepting so much 
as would amount to two shillings a week; Bridget did the 
rest. I ironed all but my husband’s shirts ; these I felt I was 
not accomplished enough in the art for; and thus about a 
shilling a week was saved. 

At first my husband felt hurt at this exclusive devotion to 
my child, more particularly as it sensibly injured the child’s 
health, which was pining for want of the fresh air. I could 


26 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

not give it; my own strength was insufficient for the burden 
of carrying the babe. 

“Let Bridget take the child out this morning,” said my 
husband, testily. 

“ Very well,” I said, “ as you like; but we must dine later 
if she does.” 

“ That will not signify, so that the child gets health and 
you relief.” 

And so Bridget, not very reluctantly, was made head nurse 
for the time being. I always suspected Patrick’s proximity to 
our neighborhood, and, from her excessive readiness for the 
walk, in my inner mind I fancied he was not far distant. We 
usually dined at four o’clock; it was now one, and my last 
words were, “ Bridget, recollect you have not prepared for 
the dinner; be sure you are home at two.” Three o’clock 
came, and Bridget hacl not returned. In my anxiety for my 
babe, I thought nothing of my husband’s meal, and, indeed, I 
am not sure that I could have cooked a dinner if I had de¬ 
sired to do so. Soon after three Bridget entered, with my 
boy sweetly asleep and well wrapped up. I saw at once no 
harm had come to it. 

T said, very crossly, “ Bridget, where have you been? ” 

“ Oh, missus! I didn’t think ’twas so late; but I’ll soon 
see to the dinner; ” and that was all that was done to it. 
The potatoes were half cooked, the meat soddened, cinders 
had got into the gravy, and the whole affair was deplorable. 

Time after time the same thing occurred, till even my hus¬ 
band’s patient sweetness of temper was fast giving way, and 
my own was becoming almost shrewish. I took myself seri¬ 
ously to task; how was this to be remedied ? Expenses were 
getting ahead, too; substitutes of eggs or bacon were often 
had recourse to, to cover up the deficiency of a dinner which 
was uneatable ; extra tea had to be used for the lack of boil¬ 
ing water and forethought of mine, for Bridget could not 
think — this was her failing. My husband was, at the time, 
engaged in reading up for his profession, and desired only to 
have the house kept quiet, while at the same time good and 
digestible food, regularly served, was absolutely necessary for 
his health, which had ever been dependent upon extraneous 
circumstances, and, though not requiring to be nursed, he had 
no robustness to draw upon. Somehow, the baby had turned 
our little world upside down. Washing day was now a posi¬ 
tive discomfort, whereas before it was a little seen or heeded; 


PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. 


27 


the muddle I had got myself into looked dangerous. I sat one 
evening with my babe asleep in my lap : my husband was in 
his study; I was musing on all my past life, and shuddering 
at the future. I felt the want of a higher leading than my 
own capricious w r ill, and I prayed earnestly — even without 
moving or audible utterance — as I had seldom prayed, that I 
might be led to do what was right; for I felt a dim conscious¬ 
ness that my husband’s love was drifting away from me. In 
the tumult of my mind — in the earnestness of my desire — I 
could see no path; but afterwards, in the peace of other 
thoughts, bearing no impress of my present troubles, my way 
seemed made plain before me, and the very next day I put in 
practice my theory. 

I had been accustomed to rise only just in time for a nine- 
o’clock breakfast. Consequently my boy was brought down 
into the room unwashed and untidy, and in the same room all 
his washing-apparatus and dressing-gear were laid out, at 
first much to my husband’s annoyance ; but as fire in another 
room would have been necessary, or I must have gone down to 
Bridget’s kitchen, the point was given up. On this morning 
I rose, without awakening my husband, at seven, much to the 
surprise of Bridget. My baby was fed, washed, and dressed, 
and I put on my bonnet and shawl, and took him into the 
garden for half an hour. He soon fell asleep, for children are 
always awake with the birds. I then brought him in, and 
laid him in his cot, and had every trace of his ablutions 
removed. I certainly felt weary and faint, but the old adage 
of “Practice makes perfect” occurred to me. 

It was the resolution which this proverb inspired that, when 
I found myself so wearied with my early and unusual work, 
kept me from complaint, w r hen my husband came down, much 
surprised at the change so visible in the morning’s arrange¬ 
ments. The tea was made, the water boiling, the bacon 
smoking hot, and the child asleep in his cot, ready dressed for 
the day, making so perfect a picture that it is recalled now 
with pleasure. Frederick looked surprised, but forbore 
remark ; he felt sure it was only a freak; to-morrow things 
would revert to their usual course. I have since found that I 
read his thoughts most truly. Seeing this expression in his 
face, I also was silent, and talked as if the new arrangement 
had been no more .than usual. 

Baby slept till eleven o’clock, during which time I helped 
Bridget with her work, much to her wonder. She protested 


28 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

against any need of help, but I persisted, and when we had 
finished, “ Now, Bridget,” said I, when baby woke and was 
fed, “put on your bonnet, you shall carry baby, and I will 
walk with you into Islington; there is no fear of any one 
coining; it will not be post-time till two o’clock. I will tell 
your master that we are going.” 

My husband coming in at that moment, I merely said, “I 
am going to Islington with Bridget to get some things I want; 
no one is likely to come while we are gone.” 

Our walk was a pleasant one; the baby was awake the 
whole time, and was quiet and refreshed. In an hour we had 
returned to home and its duties — Bridget somewhat be¬ 
wildered, for I heard her sa}^ as she descended the stairs, 
“ What’s come to the missis now? ” 

In furtherance of the unexpressed plan I had laid down, I 
was determined to learn everything I possibly could in the 
way of cooking. Bridget’s was a liap-hazard way of proceed¬ 
ing ; sometimes the food was well dressed, but oftener very 
indifferently so; some system I thought there must be, and 
this I was determined to find out. The invaluable and ex¬ 
perienced services of our old Maggie at home had precluded 
the necessity of my being instructed in the culinary art; but 
now how could Bridget help me, even if she were disposed, 
which I much doubted ? Her temper was peculiar; she dis¬ 
liked interference and being found fault with; all her efforts 
in cooking were, in her eyes, perfection, no matter how pal¬ 
pable were the failures : “ Sure an’ it’s the fire won’t burn,” 
or, “ The weather’s heavy,” or the fault was in everything or 
person but herself. Certainly this was untractable material 
from which to extract golden knowledge, but in the absence 
of better this must be done. She could boil potatoes and 
meat well—this was something to begin upon, certainly ; so 
in the afternoon, while baby was sleeping, I made my appear¬ 
ance in the kitchen for the purpose of finding a particular cup, 
which I knew to be in my own room. Bridget was, as I ex¬ 
pected, peeling the potatoes. “ Why do you take two waters 
to wash them in ? ” I asked. 

“ Because they wouldn’t be white if I didn’t.” 

“Oh! I see,” said I; “ you peel a potato,, then wash it in 
one water, and throw it into the next directly. Yes, they do 
look very white. Ah! and all the dirt is washed off "first 
before you peel them.” 

“ Sure, an’ I wouldn’t be making ye ate the moold, would I ? ” 





NEW ARRANGEMENTS.-PUNCTUALITY. 


29 


“ Do you cover them with hot or cold water when you boil 
them?” I asked, still carefully feeling my way. 

“ Why, if I should cover ’em with water they’d be drowned, 
poor things, and wouldn’t be at all maly ; and if I was to put 
biling water on ’em they’d be waxy. I steam ’em. Ah! 
missis, it takes a time to understand a petaty; they don’t 
like much water.” 

“ Well, Bridget, I have a fancy I should like to understand 
cooking, and you must teach me.” 

“ ’Tisn’t after the likes o’ me to tache; but I do know a lit¬ 
tle ; and sure the house is yer own, and ye can do as ye plaze ; ” 
and so it was settled I was to take lessons in cooking from 
Bridget; that was the ostensible object in coming into the 
kitchen while dinner was dressing; but the real one was to 
make experiments, and bring Bridget round to my way of 
thinking. 

In course of time I succeeded, too, in this object, but it was 
a long and tedious process. I consulted various cookery 
books, but they contradicted each other, and, besides, required 
so many expensive ingredients that were beyond, far beyond, 
our allowance. 


CHAPTER III. 

PUNCTUALITY-HOW TO KEEP A DINNER WARM — BERTHA CHAP¬ 
MAN’S VISIT-HER MANAGEMENT. 

It would become wearisome to detail the various ways by 
which I arrived at peace and comfort. You may smile, for I 
did become famous as a household manager—so my friends 
thought. I certainly often pondered upon the magical pro¬ 
cess, whatever it might have been, which enabled me to retain, 
to his dying hour, the love of my husband in its freshest form, 
and not only this, but to create an ever-springing affection far 
more reliable than when our marriage vows were spoken. 
But I can understand it all now. 

In the early part of my married life, before my days of 
reformation, an intuitive feeling made me fear that my hus¬ 
band’s love was drifting away—there is no other term to call 
it; there seemed not much visible outward sign, but never¬ 
theless it was a fact. In all my life, to see and know an evil 

3 * 



30 HOW l MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

was, with me, to remedy it. To lament a by-gone of any 
kind, which it was not in my power to avert or to repair, I 
always considered a weakness. If I could remedy the error 
I did so, and at once, and I never stopped at half-measures, 
which only wrought confusion. Thoroughly did I enter upon 
the matter, whatever it was — take up my burden with all my 
strength, and walk straight on ; hence it has been said of me, 
“ Whichever way she falls, it is on her feet.” The trials I 
have passed through need not be dilated upon here; they have 
been enough to make the bravest heart succumb, but mine 
never did; a higher Power upheld me; that I felt, and also 
that a miraculous strength seemed to pour into my spirit 
when it was needed; therefore I had no fear for the future, 
how dark soever the present hour, and it was always with the 
present I had to deal. My business now was to win back my 
husband’s interest in me—to live for him alone; beauty of 
face or grace of form I never possessed ; but the same charm 
which won him could, I thought, also keep him. My dress 
had been slightly neglected, for I had in my carelessness im¬ 
agined that anything would do for home. “ That will do, no¬ 
body’s coming,” was too frequently my mental ejaculation, 
and thus a crumpled ribbon or collar would occasionally offend 
my husband’s critical eye, the offence seen more in its ex¬ 
pression than by any utterance of tongue. 

Again, punctuality was unheeded; it mattered not to me 
whether dinner was ready at the appointed hour, or ten or 
twenty minutes later, even half an hour I thought not of im¬ 
portance, and yet in my own home my mother was the soul of 
exactitude ; in fact, her fussings on this point seemed to me to 
be a fault, and many times before marriage I mentally thought 
that to be so very punctual was to be very often troublesome, 
— to idle people especially, — for it was always a scamper 
with me to be in time for meals. 

How often since I had been my own house-keeper had I seen 
my husband come home at the dinner hour, and say, “ I am 
quite famished — is dinner ready? it is past the time.” 

“ It will soon be on the table,” was the reply. But, alas ! 
whenever it came, if it had to be waited for, Fred’s appetite 
was gone, and to my mortification, he scarcely more than 
tasted of the food. Next to my early rising, which I found 
to be indispensable for comfort, I endeavored to become punc¬ 
tual, and this was my hardest task. Again and again I tried, 
and failed — I could not be exact. One day I was reading the 


MANAGEMENT OP A DINNER. 


31 


“ Life of Nelson,” and it was said that he owed all his success 
to being always a quarter of an hour beforehand for any ap- * 
pointraent or object that he had in view ; not that he actually 
kept the appointment at a quarter before time, but was always 
ready for it. The words seemed to stand luminously out from 
the page, and forced themselves upon my sense, so that they 
recurred continually to my memory, and could not be forgot¬ 
ten. 

I had now become an adept in our homely cooking, and 
knew that overcooked food, particularly vegetables, were } 
equally injurious with those which were undercooked. I puz¬ 
zled my weary head a long time how to keep the vegetables 
hot without injury to them. Upon my consulting Bridget, to 
my infinite relief she replied,— 

“ That’s easy done, anyhow, all but the petaties.” 

“ Well, then, dinner is to be ready a quarter before four ex¬ 
actly, and it has to be kept warm till four ; and I must come 
into the kitchen and see how you manage.” 

When the time came 1 had forgotten all this till Bridget 
came to say she was going to dish up. I saw her temper was 
not to be trifled with, or I should have said “ not dish up.” 

To my astonishment, I found she had dished up ; everything 
was ready to come on to the table but her darling treasures, 
the “ petaties ; ” they were steaming away as if over the fun¬ 
nel of a miniature steam-engine. The greens had been taken 
up and drained in the colander, the greater portion of the 
water remaining in the saucepan ; a tea-saucer had been turned 
upside down in a vegetable dish, upon this the greens had 
been placed, and the cover of the dish put on ; the dish placed 
over the nearly boiling water in the saucepan, kept the former 
as hot as possible without drying the contents. The meat had 
been taken from the jack and placed in an old dish on the top 
of the oven, and covered Avith a large dish cover, and over 
that was placed a cloth, well tucked in to prevent its catching 
smoke or blaze. The dripping-pan was removed, and on 
the draw-out of the grate was placed upside down the dish in 
which the meat was to be served ; the gravy, from which every 
particle of fat had been removed, was waiting the usual ad¬ 
juncts before pouring it on the meat dish. 

“ The ‘ petaties’ will be done on the minute,” said Bridget, 
who looked at the clock. u In five minutes it’ll be all on the 
table.” And punctually to the moment it was. 

My husband, to his surprise, was called, and the pleasure 


32 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

which flushed over his face when he saw the dinner steaming 
hot was ample reward for all my trouble. On lifting the cover 
which concealed the greens, my chagrin was great to see water 
quite over the rim of the inverted saucer. Bridget saw it 
too. 

“That’s nothing,” said she; “I didn’t think-” and 

instantly the dish was taken to the side-table, and the offend¬ 
ing water poured into a plate. 

“That’s all right now,” said I; “but, Bridget, I did not 
see the pudding.” 

“ Surely you have not forgotten my rice, Bridget?” 

“ Oh, no, sir; that was baked yesterday ; I’ve only got to 
warm it.” 

“ But, surety, that cannot be good; the milk will be sour.” 

“ You always praise my puddings, and shure you’ve always 
had it so; ” and she made good her retreat, with a slam of 
the door. When Bridget was in this humor it was best never 
to notice it; all came round in time ; and she was invaluable 
in many respects. The pudding was very good, and finding 
it so led me afterwards to preparing the sweets a day before, 
such as tarts, milk puddings, and custard puddings. In after 
years I found this plan of great advantage, as, when visitors 
came unexpectedly, a passable dinner could always be made 
up, with the addition of fish, or hash, or mince, and this with¬ 
out delay, or making it appear that the table so served was 
anything different from our usual meal. Cold vegetables, all 
but cabbage, would warm admirably. Cold carrots, sliced 
thin, put into gravy or melted butter in a basin, covered 
down, and placed in the oven for a quarter of an hour, made 
an excellent dish. Cold parsnips could be mashed with milk, 
a little butter, pepper, and salt. Cold broccoli be warmed by 
putting it into a basin, then standing the basin in a saucepan 
of boiling water, and putting on the lid. Cold peas and beans 
in the same manner. Cold turnip-greens, or spinach, the 
same; these two last, minced fine, and placed in the oven 
while a few rashers of bacon and some eggs were poached, 
and one of each placed on a sippet, with the spinach or greens 
between, made a dish most appetizing, and one which we 
rarely saw our guests refuse. Ah, well, I got a bad name by 
all these contrivances, for some of my lady visitors accused 
me, though not to my face, of being very extravagant, and 
were quite sure that a downfall must come ; but it never did. 
I went on my way rejoicing; though all these things came 


INSURANCE. 


33 


slowly to me, not in the second or third year of my wedded 
life, but when with two little ones and one servant; then 
there was scarcely a day that my experience or my necessity 
did not teach me something. 

At the end of the third year I began to be a little nervous 
about the insurance ; we had so many expenses, and with no 
help but our income, that I did not see where the money was 
to come from. To my infinite relief, my husband brought me, 
one day, a new policy of insurance, which this time, instead 
of for a thousand pounds, was only for five hundred. 

“ This is all that we can do, Milly ; it is useless attempt¬ 
ing too much ; however, I am glad that even this pittance can 
be secured ; all of the twenty pounds which we appropriated 
for contingencies is, as you must be aware, spent; we have 
had many expenses not reckoned for, and which will not occur 
again, at least to the same extent; and for these, in the com¬ 
ing year, the money which would have insured for another 
five hundred must be set aside to meet them. I have no fear 
now, little wife ; dearer, a thousand times dearer than ever.” 

Tears were rolling down my cheeks as he folded me in his 
arms, and continued, u My own darling Milly, when we first 
came here I missed in 3 r ou all the thousand little charms which 
wound themselves round my vagrant heart before I asked 
your love ; then, dearest — ay, even only a short year ago, I 
pined for the bright smile, the loving glance, the cheery voice, 
which in our courting days had ever welcomed me. One sad 
year you buried them all out of sight, and I grieved to think 
that for me they would never spring again. But now, now, 
dearest, I forget sometimes that we are married — I forget 
that we are other than the lovers of old, till the merry crow 
of that boy yonder recalls me to the reality, the blessing of 
the reality, that you are mine only, my darling true wife.” 

Those who may read this story may guess my feelings ; not 
one word of utterance rose to my lips, which I pressed to his 
forehead, then flew to my room, to be alone there with my 
God, — to thank Him even for all I had suffered, — to pray for 
that strength in well-doing which as yet, whatever brave show 
I might make, was but green and tender as an early rose- 
shoot. My besetting sin was an indolence of body. I liked 
to sit and dream for hours, and to put off till another time, if 
I could, a present duty. It is useless now telling people this ; 
they will never believe but that action, and energy of will and 
purpose were of my nature. “It is impossible,” say they; 


34 HOW I MANAGED MY nOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

but it is nevertheless true, and what is mortifying, I am even 
now, and ever was, constantly falling into the bad habit. My 
children were around me before I had devised any certain 
method of managing my household affairs. Rooms were 
swept sometimes one day, sometimes another; occasionally 
all were littered and in process of cleaning at once. So that, 
if any one called upon us unawares and from a distance, no 
apartment was fit to ask them into, and the consequent con¬ 
fusion and flurry generally resulted in a nervous headache to 
myself, and an irritation of temper difficult to bear with by 
those who surrounded me. 

When my second child could just run about, Bertha Chap¬ 
man came to pay me a somewhat lengthened visit. We had 
been scliool-girls together, and at school our intimacy com¬ 
menced, which had continued all these long years. At twenty- 
six she had married a widower of fifty, with four daughters 
and one son. She was a girl of spirit and intelligence, devoted 
to her husband and loved by his children. Disparity of years 
she never thought of.” 

“ Hilly,” she said one day, as we were talking over our 
married life, “ I am the happiest woman in existence; j r ou 
cannot imagine how I reverence my noble husband ; and my 
brothers and sisters (for I cannot help calling his children so) 
are the pleasure of my life when he is absent.” 

“ But how in the world do you manage such an establish¬ 
ment ? ” 

u Oh, easily enough,” she replied. “ You know my aunt 
who trained me was very systematic. I must confess to hav¬ 
ing some dread when I first came home, for the former Mrs. 
Chapman was, I had heard, an excellent manager. The dis¬ 
cipline of the house had somewhat fallen away since her death, 
and I soon saw that the servants were careless, and disposed 
to look upon my coming as an innovation upon their rights. 
Robert, in a day or two after our return, said to me, — 

“ ‘ There is but one servant that I care to retain, if any of 
the others are not agreeable to you, and even old Fanny I will 
pension off if she should be disposed to resent your interfer¬ 
ence in the present management. So continue them or dis¬ 
charge them, as you think fit.’ 

“ Having this power vested in me, with only one reserve, 
and holding the reins of punctuality and early rising in my 
hands, my influence was despotic. On the morning after, I 
called all the four servants into the dining-room, and kindly, 


BERTHA CIIAPMANS’S VISIT. 


35 


but firmly, made them understand that each must be down 
stairs by six o’clock, and none up in the evening after ten, 
excepting the upper house-maid ; that each one must individ¬ 
ually keep to her own work, but that, if I requested either of 
them to perform some duty not exactly within her province, 
she must do it without demur; and also that their daily 
duties, of which I would give them a list, must be punctually 
and thoroughly performed; of the latter mode I should my¬ 
self judge. If they could not agree to these terms, it would 
be better for them to say so, and at once. Three of them at 
once accepted the regulations, and I have had little fault to 
find since. The cook turned restive then, but not afterwards. 
I had understood her chief fault was forgetfulness ; the dinner 
would be well cooked, but frequently the appropriate sauces 
and vegetables would be omitted. Another circumstance, 
amounting to a nuisance, I had to complain of: the trades¬ 
men, while waiting for orders, would assemble in the lower 
hall leading to the kitchen, and at this time the house-maids 
would join them, and the laugh and joke were freely passed ; 
besides, these morning gatherings became the head-quarters 
for disseminating all the gossip of the house : who were visit¬ 
ing ; w T ho going; who cross ; and who good-tempered. This 
I was determined to put down, and I did.” 

“ Why, how could you do this? It is just what I complain 
of with my one servant. Bridget will gossip, for sometimes I 
really cannot at a moment tell what I should like for dinner, 
and while I am considering she is amusing herself.” 

“ The remedy is very simple,” replied Bertha. “ I merely 
transferred the practice of my aunt’s house to my new home. 
I wrote out on a strip of paper a bill of fare for the day, and 
underneath this, at some distance below, I wrote the different 
orders, such as the butcher’s, the grocer’s, and the Ashman’s, 
writing them very distinctly, and widely dividing them by a 
line, which line I afterwards nearly cut through, so that each 
respective order could be rapidly torn off and given to each 
party. In writing an order, say for the butcher, I distinctly 
defined the weight of joint, and whether I required much or 
little fat. The fish-monger sent in always his bill of fare, and 
two minutes sufficed for him. These orders I also transferred 
to the weekly books; and the dinner bill of fare the cook 
came to my dressing-room for at eight o’clock every morning. 
At ten punctually I went into the kitchen, and from thence 
she accompanied me to the larder, where I directed what wa3 


36 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

to be sent up for luncheon, what meat and pudding should'be 
served up for the servants’ dinner. I had the bread-pan daily 
wiped out. The order for the bread was written in the bread- 
book, — what loaves to change if it were needed, what quantity 
to take in, — each was put down separately, whether loaves, 
rolls, brown bread, flour, or cakes ; and I called both on baker 
and grocer, and gave them to understand that unless an order 
was in my writing they were not to deliver it.” 

“ What! did you write down the grocer’s order, too?” 

“ Most certainly I did. It is but little trouble, and an hour 
in the morning will suffice for all; besides, how is it possible 
to keep a check upon the expenditure of a limited income if 
such were not the case.” 

“ But eight hundred a year is not a very limited income,” I 
remarked. 

“ It all depends upon the requirements of a family whether it 
be considered large or small. There are four young people, 
myself and husband, four servants, and a boy, making in all 
eleven persons. The education of the younger children is not 
yet completed, and this swallows up a considerable sum; be¬ 
sides, Robert has claims upon him which I am not authorized 
to mention. So limited do we find eight hundred a year that 
for the last twelvemonth I have had all our dresses, excepting 
one, made at home.” 

“ Made at home ! Don’t you find it very expensive to have 
a needle-woman in the house ? They are always so slow.” 

“ You do not know, perhaps, that I am a great adept with 
my needle. It was an accomplishment my aunt thought of 
paramount importance, and insisted upon it that no needle¬ 
work should go out of the house. She got a clever dress-maker 
to come once a month, and, by dint of observation and some 
aptitude, I acquired sufficient of the art to cut out and make 
up a dress. I pouted and was sadly troubled at first; but 
how thankful I am now I can scarcely express.” 

“ And you played so exquisitely, and your drawings used to 
be my envy ; what a pity to lay down these acquirements, and 
degenerate into a mere household drudge ! though I must say 
your appearance is not exactly that.” 

Bertha looked at me in amazement, and at last burst out 
into such a ringing laugh that the elder of the two children 
who were playing on the floor got up and ran across to her, 
rested her little arms on her lap, and said, u What did hoo 
laugh for ? ” while the totty babe crawled to her feet, saying 


bertha’s management. 


37 


as fast as he conld, “ An’ me too.” She caught them both 
up, and broke out into such a torrent of song that convinced 
me, however much she had neglected her music and dancing, 
her voice had been cultivated to the highest extreme. 

“ Why, Milty,” she exclaimed, u is it possible that you 
think a woman cannot unite accomplishments and usefulness? 
Surely they should go hand in hand together. You don’t 
mean to tell me that you have given up your music — that you 
never play, never sing ? ” 

“It is even so,” I replied, a scarlet flush mounting to my 
face, for she sat with such provoking astonishment on her 
face that I felt n^sclf no other than criminal. 

Bertha, with a look of grave concern on her face, sat musing 
for some moments, then said,— 

“ Milly, will you be offended with me if I speak very plainly 
to you ? When at school, you will recollect, I was termed 
eccentric, and I have been called so since — though I never 
could understand in what thought or movement of mine my 
eccentricity consisted. Do you remember my being laughed 
at when I said that I believe all accomplishments were neces¬ 
sary for girls, and actual requirements in their education? 
Experience has taught me that my views are correct. Surely 
the years you studied music should not be as wasted time — 
to say nothing of the expense thrown away. Why should a 
girl be educated at all if she is soon after marriage to dwindle 
into a mere household machine ? I have noticed how weary 
your husband is of an evening, and how he turns from the 
detail of your day’s management and of Bridget’s doings, 
seeking for refuge in a book, to read which is poison to his 
already over-worked brain.” 

“ Bertha, do not blame me for this; you know he likes read¬ 
ing.” 

“ Yes, as we like food for our sustenance, not for harm. 
You have accustomed him to this mode of passing the evening, 
varied occasionally by a walk, during which the same home 
topic goes on.” 

Here I broke in most vehemently. “You know nothing 
about it, Bertha. Why should you blame me for Fred’s quiet¬ 
ness ? he wishes to be quiet.” 

“ In any home but my own, Milly, I am chary of offering 
to amuse the master of it; but you know my own devotion to 
Robert, and therefore will not misconstrue my motives ; to¬ 
night I shall tiy the experiment.” 


S3 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

I laughed consent, but felt sure no experiment was needed: 
things were best as they were. Fred always looked tired and 
grave ; why should he be disturbed ? Evening came ; it seemed 
an effort for my husband to join in the conversation. Bertha 
sat quietly talking to me for some time, when she said,— 

“ Milly, do you recollect any of your old songs? ” 

“ Yes ; but my voice is gone from want of practice.” 

“ Never mind, come and try; perhaps it will come back 
again.” 

I involuntarily turned to look at my husband; a shade 
passed over his face as he buried himself deeper in his book. 
Presently the most exquisite melody breathed round the room ; 
no loud chords broke the charm — it was as if an angel had 
touched the instrument. My husband put down his book, 
threw his head back, and closed his eyes; still the same 
heavenly strains went on, and ultimately a voice seemed to 
rise in the atmosphere, so perfect in its modulation, so charm¬ 
ingly liquid in all its tones, that I could not help exclaiming, 
“ How delightful! ” When it ceased my husband rose, came 
to the piano, and said, — 

“Bertha, you are like David of old—capable of chasing 
away evil spirits ; at all events your voice has not run away.” 

“ Neither has Milly’s,” I replied; “ it is only stored away 
for the present.” 

“ I used to like Milty’s singing better than yours, but X 
never hear her voice now,” he said with a sigh ; “ the children 
take up all her time.” 

I was about to reply, but Bertha, I thought somewhat has¬ 
tily, asked for some information respecting some people whom 
she had told me she did not care a straw for. I certainly 
fancied she was inconsistent; however, this led to desultory 
but amusing conversation through the rest of the evening, 
which glided gradually away.- I had not seen Fred so bright- 
looking for many a day ; I could not but rejoice at this, though 
a jealous pang arose when I reflected that it was other efforts 
than mine which had aroused my husband into something like 
gayety. However, this evil spirit of jealousy I strangled be¬ 
fore it had time for more than to show its existence. Fortu¬ 
nate, indeed, was it that strength was given me to resist the 
selfish feeling which poisons every enjoyment, for this evening 
was the beginning of a new life. Insensibly a brighter influ¬ 
ence encircled us. In conversation, reading, and music, in 
which I bore my part, the days became scarcely long enough, 


39 


bertha’s programme. 

and the evenings I looked forward to with delight. The chil¬ 
dren throve amazingly upon the diet which Bertha insisted 
they should have, and Bridget was rarely unamiable ; she w T as 
not called upon at unusual times to make a light pudding for 
baby, and to beat up an egg in milk for the eldest child, “ and 
then missis always crying out about the expense; for, mem, 
she never will think that all the tittles cost anything — ’tis 
only the mate and the petaties she reckons upon.” 

Robert Chapman, Bertha’s husband, had gone to the West 
Indies, accompanied by his son, to look after some property 
that had descended to him by the will of a recently deceased 
relative. The eldest daughter was visiting an aunt, and the 
three youngest w r ere at school. Bertha had determined upon 
paying this visit to us, and had left the house under the care 
of old Fanny and the cook: the other servants were at board 
wages. On her first coming she had insisted upon paying 
some portion of our weekly expenses, but seeing how very 
little her plan was liked, and that to press the matter would 
have been cause of some offence, she desisted, though many a 
luxury found its way to our table, which, but for her, would 
hare been unattainable. Fanny, by her mistress’s orders, 
frequently despatched a hamper containing delicacies, which 
could not be refused, and which no remonstrance could prevent 
from appearing ; so that at last we quietly gave in to Bertha’s 
“ whim,” as she called it, and accepted the good things with 
thankfulness. In the intervals between these arrivals, Bertha 
contrived to become house-keeper. She ordered the dinners, 
and managed the scraps so well, that Bridget replied to an 
inquiry I one day made as to the dinner — “ Shure, ’tis a 
French dinner Mrs. Chapman will be after sending up to-day.” 
In short, everything went on §o admirably, jrnt so quietly, 
that, as my friend’s visit was now limited to three or four 
weeks, I felt much regret at her leaving, and, knowing that I 
should again fall into my unsystematic ways, I got her to 
draw up a programme (if I may use the term) of management, 
which I must give here, or my story will be incomplete. See. 
here she has headed it, — ! 

“ Early rising — Punctuality — Despatch, and a place for everything.” 

How musical was her laugh as sin? wrote, at the same time 
making gentle excuses for such important words, as she 
termed them, — 


40 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“ Milly, dear, you must get out of your dreamy moods; 
whatever presents itself in the shape of duty, let it be grap¬ 
pled with at the right moment; if it be disagreeable, never 
mind, grasp it at once; don’t stay thinking about it. You 
know the old rhyme, — 

“ ‘ Tender-handed touch the nettle, 

And it stings you for your pains; 

Grasp it like a man of mettle, 

And it soft as silk remains.’ 

So, little friend, difficulties vanish before resolution and 
action.” , 

“ But, Bertha, I have not the strong will and power you 
have. With you to will is to do ; with me it is different. I 
am naturally the slave of circumstances.” 

“ Milly, stop; don’t acknowledge to such weakness. If 
you make yourself the slave of circumstances, they will rule 
you ; but once bend circumstances to your will, and the vic¬ 
tory is gained. I understand but two to which we must all 
bow — sickness and death ; these excepted, we can be brave 
under all others. Be dauntless in the right-” 

“Now, Bertha, how can I always judge what is right? 
You know how tiresome Bridget is, and when I require things 
to be done one way, she will insist upon doing them in a dif¬ 
ferent manner.” 

“ Bridget sees that your orders are merely the result of ca¬ 
price, not of judgment or knowledge ; and this observation of 
her quick-witted intellect makes her flippant, almost imperti¬ 
nent. Those below us must see some superior quality in their 
employers to respect. A self-styled architect who had no 
more knowledge than a bricklayer would not be able to gov¬ 
ern his men. So it is with a mistress; if she really knows 
nothing of household management, there will be insubordina¬ 
tion among her domestics, and even contempt exhibited.” 

“What can I do? Bridget will never act differently now, 
however I may alter,” I said, helplessly. 

“No, perhaps not; but at all events you can begin upon a 
system, and leave Bridget to fall into your ways as she likes, 
or not; so that, should you be obliged to have some one in 
her place, the new-comer will not see your deficiency.” 

“ Well, then,” I replied, and inclined to be angry, “ since 
you can see, Mrs. Mentor, what I ought to do, perhaps you 



THE MYSTIC MEAL. 


41 


will give me a list of duties to be performed, omissions to be 
winked at, pleasures to be enjoyed, smiles to be indulged in, 
&c., &c., to the end of the chapter.” 

u If you are satirical, Milly, I have nothing more to say. 
It is for your good, not mine, that I have proffered my great¬ 
er experience for your guidance ; but let it all pass. I will 
take baby into the garden, and have a romp with both the 
children; ” and, so saying, she turned away with a graver 
expression on her countenance than I had ever yet witnessed. 
My pride would not then allow me to apologize for my ebulli¬ 
tion of temper. 

Since Bertha’s stay with us I had seen the advantage of or¬ 
der, neatness, and regularity, and our table was better served, 
even when there were only scraps to make up a dinner, than 
it ever had been. Bertha had the knack of turning everything 
to account; and many a time when I had thought it impossi¬ 
ble we could make a dinner of what appeared bare bones, out 
of this bareness came forth a repast which I and my husband 
enjoyed as much as when we began the week with a joint. 
This very day of our difference, occasioned by my petulance, 
some such a dinner was to be manufactured, and, as I saw 
Bertha still in the garden, I conjectured that she meant to 
leave me to my fate, and an hour previously to the dinner¬ 
time I went into the kitchen, where I was civilly informed 
that the dinner was all arranged, and would be ready in time. 
My temper led me to believe that this time the meal would be 
a failure. What could be made of a few scraps of meat stick¬ 
ing to a mutton, bone ? Bridget had asked me for a shilling 
to pay for something Mrs. Chapman had ordered; but what 
was this sum to do in finding provision for four persons’ din¬ 
ners ? To my astonishment came, first, a pair of soles, which 
were not so very small, and of which some was left for Bridg¬ 
et. Then came a dish of what looked very like rissoles, only 
they were egg-shaped, and somewhat larger than an egg; 
these were savory, and there was a plentiful supply, and they 
were accompanied by a dish of nicety mashed and browned 
potatoes. To this fare was added a rice pudding. I must 
confess to my bad temper quietly oozing away, though my 
curiosity was none the less excited. 

In the evening, before retiring, I went to Bertha’s room as 
I usually did, and, fearing my courage would fail me, said at 
once, — 

“ Bertha, in all seriousness, I am come to ask you to give 

4 * 


I 


42 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAH. 

me a few rules for my guidance in house-keeping. I find since 
you have been with us that our meals cost less, and yet we 
have greater comfort; that my husband and children are in 
better health, and that altogether home is pleasanter. I know 
you are capable of guiding me, for you were differently 
brought up to myself. My mother did everything — saw to 
everything; she was, and is, as you know, the sole depend¬ 
ence of the house in its management. Your aunt made you 
self-helpful, and thus gave you wealth for your lifetime. 1 
am very sorry,” I hastily said, for I saw she was about to in¬ 
terrupt me, “ that I gave way to temper this morning; but 
forgive me, and be my best friend.” 

Bertha looked at me with her eyes full of tears, though 
smiles dimpled her cheeks. 

“ Milly, you will do very well,” she said. “ On my return 
home I will write all I cannot now say. In three weeks Rob¬ 
ert will return, and I must for a time bid you farewell. 
While I remain, let things go on as they have hitherto done, 
and when I get back I will write your 4 Rules/ and send 
them.” 

“But, Bertha, about the nice dinner to-day; how did you 
manage it? The cost was certainly more than a shilling? ” 

“ Not much,” she replied ; 44 the soles were only sixpence 
the pair, and then I did not give the order to the fish-monger 
who frequently calls here for orders, but in my walk this 
morning I met a man with a truck, who had plenty of fish, 
good and cheap. I stopped and purchased them, he giving 
me a sheet of paper, and I brought them home. Do not look 
so aghast; what harm was there in that ? I saved sixpence 
by the bargain, and I injured no one ; I should do the same 
always if necessity required it. A limit of twenty-seven shil¬ 
lings a week is not at all suggestive of pride. The potatoes 
cost three-lialfpence. The meat came off the bone you de¬ 
spised so yesterday, when I asserted it could be made to do 
for a dinner to-day.” 

“ The composition was a mystery to me, and I can get no 
information from Bridget; so if you will tell me all about that 
I shall be glad.” 

“ Listen. Every scrap of meat was taken off and chopped 
very fine. I then measured it in a basin, and took the same 
quantity of bread-crumbs and a table-spoonful of flour, a little 
allspice, salt, and half an onion chopped very fine indeed. I 
mixed the bread-crumbs, flour, and spice together first, then 


HOW TO MAKE A DINNER FROM SCRAPS. 


43 


mixed the merit well with it, then sprinkled the onion over, 
and stirred it all well together; I then stirred in two table¬ 
spoonfuls of bacon fat. If you did not make Bridget take 
care of all the fat which drips from the bacon, I should have 
been obliged to have minced a rasher or two of that expensive 
article. With a very little milk I mixed these into balls, then 
pressed them flat and somewhat egg-shaped; I then rolled 
each in flour, and dropped them one at a time into a saucepan 
of boiling dripping, frying them each singly. 

“ A saucepan of boiling dripping ! ” I exclaimed ; “ why 
not have fried them in the frying-pan ? ” 

“ For two reasons. Do you think a domestique or cook of 
my experience could do without a sautepan ? Certainly not. 
So I improvised one out of a small iron saucepan which 
Bridget seemed to have discarded as good for nothing but to 
boil a couple of eggs in ; that was one reason. The second 
was that in your larder I found dripping a scarce article, so 
that the quantity which would have filled a small frying-pan 
was not to be had, and if sufficient could have been found it 
would have been wasted by evaporation, and been soon 
burned up; whereas, in the saucepan, as soon as the fat 
boiled I threw in a bit of bread ; when it readily browned I 
drew the saucepan to a moderate heat, where, however, its 
contents continued to boil. I then dropped in one of my 
meat eggs , so that it was entirely, and somewhat deeply, cov¬ 
ered with the fat, and as soon as it was brown I took it up 
with an egg-slice, allowed the fat to drain from it, and placed 
it on a pad of paper before the fire, so as to allow it to be¬ 
come quite dry. After the meat eggs were all fried, I threw 
the fat into a basin of hot water and stirred it up well; to¬ 
morrow morning this will be settled in a cake on the top of 
the water, which I shall take off and lay on some double paper 
to dry. The impurities the fat has acquired in being used 
will have sunk to the bottom of the water, and the fat will be 
ready for use again. The potatoes were mashed singly with 
a spoon against the side of a basin, a little salt and milk were 
added, and well mixed. I then buttered another basin, 
pressed the potatoes into it, set it in the oven for five min¬ 
utes, then put an old plate on the top of the basin, turned the 
latter upside down, when the potatoes came in shape on to the 
plate. I scored them over with a knife, and placed them on a 
plate in the oven to brown.” 



44 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“ Now, Milly, off with you to bed; it’s half into the middle 
of the night; we shall both lose our hearty sleep.” 

“ But about the rice pudding?” I answered ; “just tell me 
how that was made. I never liked rice before.” 

“ Oh, that is a very simple matter. Bridget bought me a 
quart of milk, for which she gave six cents; and excellent 
milk I must say it was. I took two small pie-dishes, and put 
into each a very' little more than an ounce of rice, about a 
small table-spoonful; this I poured hot water on, stirred che 
rice in it, then drained the water away, and repeated the 
process again. By doing this all the earthiness, or rawness, 
which is always attached to rice and barley, is done away 
with. I then mixed with the rice in each dish a dessert-spoon¬ 
ful of sugar and a slight sprinkle of nutmeg. I mixed a pint 
of milk with the rice in each dish, put a shaving of butter on 
the top of each, and baked it in the oven for an hour. But 
one thing you must remember — that after the dish is once 
put in the oven its contents must not be again stirred, or, 
strange to say, there is a likelihood of the milk burning; and 
also your judgment must be exercised 'with regard to the 
oven’s heat; if it be of too slow and cool a temperature these 
puddings will take two hours instead of one to cook. The 
second pudding the children had at one o’clock, after their 
meat, a few scraps of which I minced very finely, and mixed 
with some bruised hot potatoes and a little salt; they had 
each a pretty tolerabty thick slice of bread and but a scraping 
of butter. The pudding added to this made them an excellent 
dinner. Nearly half the rice was left for Bridget. Now, 
dear Milly, not another word to-night; away with you; I 
must lock you out.” 

“ Just tell me why you put such a scrap of butter on the 
rice? I should fancy you might just as well put none at all.” 

“You goose! If the butter were not there a thin skin 
would be on the milk, which would readily burn; you may 
call the butter oil if you like, for as oil rapidly stills the 
troubled water, so does the butter allay the ebullition of the 
milk. And now not another word, but good-night, or rather 
good-morning.” 

Bertha left us in three weeks, and returned to her happy 
home. Happy, because she made it so ; her cheerful temper, 
healthy tone of thinking, and active usefulness could not but 
be appreciated. Her husband, in his first marriage, had been 
termed exacting; now, his wife’s prevision left no room for 


1 


bertha’s rules for managing a house. 45 

exactions. He had but one fault — like the Israelites of old 
he was rapidly falling into idolatry, and his wife was the 
queen of earth and heaven. Her first letters to us were filled 
with such “joyous romancing,” my husband called it “ high- 
flown nonsense,” which he could not realize, but which I, in a 
far-off dream, seemed once to have known. 

In a month came my anxiously-looked-for epistle, which 
was to contain “ rules” for my guidance. Yes, mine ! — a 
wife and mother of two children. Had I ever seen any weak¬ 
ness of purpose in Bertha I should have had no confidence ; 
but in all her management, in all the ordering of her own 
ways, she was to my human vision perfect; yet it was with 
trembling that I opened her letter ; I felt that in every line I 
should be condemned — her precepts and my practice I knew 
would not agree. I need not refer to any note-book to refresh 
my memory, but, setting aside all the love which welled forth 
from her heart, and found fitting place in her affectionate 
words, I give the rules themselves: — 

“ Early rising — Punctuality — Despatch. Duties to be 
instantly performed, however in themselves disagreeable. 

“ In every household, large or small, palace or cot, there 
must be a place for everything; and the mistress must see that 
everything be kept in its place. This matter is generally a 
prolific source of unpleasantness between domestics and mis¬ 
tress, or house-keeper. There is rarely to be found any order 
or plan in untrained servants. Everything is put out of hand 
at the readiest vacant spot, till confusion everywhere is appar¬ 
ent, unless supervision be exercised day after day; in fact, 
it is a daily duty, and must be done despite the tossings of 
the head, or the thumping of various articles, or the banging 
of doors by the enraged damsel, who tells you that 4 no lady 
would do such things, and, as I don’t seem to give satisfac¬ 
tion, I must go.’ In nine cases out of ten this is the result; 
but either one must be subject to one’s servants or one must 
be mistress. It is in this point that a young and inexperi¬ 
enced mistress breaks down. It is troublesome to be poking 
everywhere at the risk of stirring up a tempest, but, never¬ 
theless, it must be done; and if the trouble be met every 
morning it will soon cease to worry the mistress or annoy the 
servant. To master this most essential duty, one has to con¬ 
quer one’s own unwillingness for the task, as well as indo- 
]unce — hence the hardship. Some mistresses have a peculiar 


46 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

talent for looking after things ; these get well served, and can 
never be made to understand the natural timidity and shrink¬ 
ing from an act which is felt to be unpleasant; but whether 
brave or timid, strong or weak, this necessary daily act is one 
of the first of house-keeping duties.” 

On reading this I felt self-condemned ; I dared not look too 
closely into a region at the back of the kitchen, which, like 
Dinah’s drawer, was a receptacle for everything, from a nut¬ 
meg-grater to candle-ends. In fact, had I now commenced 
my inquisitorial visit, Bridget would have protested by leav¬ 
ing me. So I put this rule on one side, to be acted upon 
when Bridget’s successor should commence her reign. I was 
found wanting, too, in the next rule. 

A 

“ Keep a rag-bag, a paper-bag, and a string-bag, all con¬ 
veniently to hand ; a small drawer with nails and tacks, ham¬ 
mer, pincers, and chisel; but all these tools, with the addi¬ 
tion of a glue-pot, keep under your own eye, or, like pins and 
needles, they will nowhere be found when wanted.” 

Oh, the lectures I have had from Bertha about wasting rags ! 

“ It is a sin,” she would say, “ to destroy that which our 
paper-manufacturers are at their wits’ ends to obtain. Every 
particle of rag should be saved.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ; it’s such a little which I make, it cannot 
affect the paper question,” was my laughing reply. 

Bertha looked at me gravely. 

“ Milly, Milly, a grain of wheat is but small, but numbers 
feed nations. A pound of rags is little to make in one 
year; but if every woman saved that weight, would there not 
be millions of pounds ready to be converted into one of the 
actual necessities of civilized life? The miser gathers his 
hoard penny by penny; }^ou save in money, not by the sov¬ 
ereign, but by the shilling, and even by less.” 

Bertha had a most convincing way of putting things. I 
could not deny her arguments, and therefore set up a rag-bag, 
and henceforth made it a point of conscience to take care of 
the scraps. At the end of the year I was astonished at the 
accumulation which I sold, and transferred the money to my 
children’s money-box. The next rule was, — 


bertiia’s rules continued. 


47 


u Never crowd too much work into a given time, by having 
three or four rooms cleaned in one day.” 

Bertha showed me the folly of this proceding before she 
left. We had but eight rooms ; the two sitting-rooms under¬ 
went tolerable cleaning every day, and when one bedroom 
only was disturbed at a time there were plenty of others for 
occupation ; besides, Bridget could compass this much without 
effort. 

“ Never allow dilapidations of linen, or articles of furniture 
to remain unrepaired; the latter give an untidy appearance 
to a house, and the former is subversive of all comfort. A 
pair of stockings may be mended in a quarter of an hour, 
more or less. This portion of time will scarcely be missed, 
while to mend two pair will take a longer time than can, 
perhaps, be spared.” 

When I read this my eye wandered to my basket of linen 
—its contents accumulating daily ; with a heavy sigh I turned 
away. 

“ Four times a year have the beds and mattresses beat and 
shaken in the open air; once a year, if needed, have the lat¬ 
ter re-made. If the bedsteads or boards of the room contain 
unpleasant intruders, expel them at once by brushing every 
crevice with strong brine, and let it crystallize on, and so re¬ 
main, instead of removing it. Be careful in this process to 
brine the floors before taking the bedsteads to pieces.” 

Bertha got that hint, I know, from ray own mother, who 
used to say, in reference to it, that equally simple remedies 
for many nuisances lay always close at hand, if we had only 
the wit or knowledge to use them. 

“ Mark all linen with the best marking-ink, when, if it should 
be obliterated in washing, rest assured that the laundress has 
used chloride of lime in the operation of cleansing the clothes ; 
the use of soda will only make the ink become blacker. 

“ Let every article be marked so that it becomes a perpet¬ 
ual register as long as the marks remain,* thus — supposing 
there are six articles — say towels — of a particular pattern, 
mark your initials, the number 6 over these, and the individ- 


48 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

ual number, with the date under the initials; by thus do¬ 
ing, at any time, if you are in doubt about the towels, } t ou 
can be sure you had six of this particular kind, and you 
can also directly tell which of the numbers, from 1 to 6, is 
missing. This manner of registering linen is so correct in its 
application, and a loss is so readily discovered, that the 
method should be one of universal practice. 

u Rarely trust a servant to send the linen out to be washed, 
or to count it over on its return, unless you stand by. See 
the former counted, and set it down yourself; and the same 
with the clean linen — see that it agrees in number and land; 
exchanges are often made, and never the better for the worse 
substitute. 

“ Every article ordered of your tradesmen write down in 
their books ; never allow an order to be written by a servant. 

“ Keep all receipts and file them. At the end of each quar¬ 
ter sew them through the centre with strong needle and 
thread, and tie them; place a strip of paper round each pack¬ 
et, with the date of month and year. At the end of each year 
place the four packets in one paper, tie it up, and label it 
with date, &c., and place it in a drawer or other convenient 
place. 

“ Enter in a book all the money you receive, also all you 
spend, and also for what it has been spent, so that at the end 
of the year you may be enabled to see for what purposes the 
money has gone. 

“Have no ‘sundries/ which, in other words, mean 
‘ forgets/ 

“ Do not go into debt. Do without even necessaries, if so 
it must be ; but avoid debt as you would a mountain that will 
crush you. / 

“ Have no secrets from your husband, either as to your ex¬ 
penditure or proceedings. If a husband be kept in ignorance 
of his wife’s carelessness or debt, it is like walking over the 
concealed crater of a volcano, which may break at any mo¬ 
ment and precipitate him beneath. 

“ It is astonishing how much repose of mind a woman en¬ 
joys who places conlidence in her husband ; but, — 

“ Beware of wearying him with every petty detail of house¬ 
keeping — of the shortcomings of the servants, the breakages, 
and the hundred petty annoyances a woman has to bear Avho 
has only limited means at her disposal. 

“ All bills and papers should be laid before him on the day 


ECONOMY IN BREAD. 


49 


of their arrival. It is possible that he may receive such with 
pettish words or manner; if it be so, avoid comment or notice 
of any kind. All will come right at the proper time. 

“The best check against unnecessary expenditure is to let 
the husband see the bills every week, although the wife alone 
pays them. He will then know the cost of everything, and 
there can be no blame. 

“ Never, as a rule, intrust bills to servants to pay; they 
will sometimes get a percentage from the tradesmen, which 
the house-keeper pays for — if not in the price of meat, in 
sundry short weights. This proceeding small incomes cannot 
stand. 

“ Weigh all articles as they come in. It is no use to com¬ 
plain of bare weight, as then there would be always unpleas¬ 
antness with the tradesmen, which should be avoided; but 
when an article is flagrantly of short weight, send it back to 
be verified ; never break open the package, or even untie the 
string with w T hich it may be tied, and even then you may be 
told your scales are wrong ; but if a half-ounce weight be put 
in one scale, and a letter on the opposite side, this must be a 
convincing proof that the scales are truly balanced. 

“In a large family the waste of pieces of bread is a source 
of great trouble to a mistress. Servants object to eat the 
pieces which are so frequently made in the dining-room, either 
in puddings or any other form ; but in a small household like 
yours, dear Milly, not a scrap must be wasted. See that a 
second loaf is not cut before the first is consumed ; teach the 
children not to waste the smallest bit; if they have more than 
they can eat with comfort, let it be made into sop or pudding 
for them. Never ask a servant to eat this ; and at your own 
table never make unnecessary pieces. When a loaf is reduced 
to about three inches thick, cut no more slices from it, but cut 
it downwards, and thus make four square pieces. If yourself 
and husband particularly like crust, and are apt to disfigure 
the loaf to obtain it, there is no reason for abstaining; for if 
the remainder, being all crumb, be pulled into small pieces, 
and placed on a dish, not a tin , in a quick oven, in ten min¬ 
utes you will get as much crust as you like. As to stale 
bread beyond a day old, it is no economy to compel your ser¬ 
vants or children to have it, under the idea that less will be 
consumed, stale bread not being so appetizing as new. In 
nine cases out of ten the servant will burn it or cover it in 
the dust, or thrust it into the flue of the copper, this being a 


50 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

famous place for burning up all that is disagreeable, and that-, 
too, without the knowledge of the mistress, who never dreams 
of opening the door of the copper. To give away unseen the 
the stale bread to beggars is the least evil; and the mistress 
dreads to speak of the consumption, fearing she may be taxed 
with starving her servants. One day’s stale bread is the 
right time to eat it. Home-made bread is not so dry as ba¬ 
ker’s bread, hence may be kept longer. 

“ Dripping is another source of dispute. You will remem¬ 
ber these rules are for an expenditure of twenty-seven shil¬ 
lings a week; and I can see you, dear Milly, turn up that 
little nose of yours at the idea of taking care of the dripping ; 
but fish, chops, and cutlets can be fried as well in dripping as 
in lard, which is expensive. A free use of it, and that made 
boiling, is all that is needed. It is using dripping sparingly 
which makes it burn ; a plentiful supply will not even become 
discolored. It answers for puddings, too, but, if you do not 
like it for that purpose so well as suet, the latter need not be 
roasted into dripping when it is sent with the beef. Be care¬ 
ful to see that every superfluous piece be cut off for future use 
previously to roasting the joint. 

“ Besides dripping, where bacon is used there remains the 
fat which drips from it; this is one of the most useful prod¬ 
ucts from cooking. In France, most of the meat and all poul¬ 
try and game are larded; this means drawing with a large 
needle, into the flesh of fowls or game, strips of bacon which 
serve to keep the meat moist and impart an agreeable flavor, 
but of course consumes a great quanta of bacon, which is a 
certain loss. Butter cannot give the flavor of bacon fat, 
though it is too often lavishly used in the shape of melted 
butter as a sauce, and to cover the dryness of the meat. The 
right way of using it, after it has dripped from the bacon, is 
to carefully put it away in a preserve pot; it will keep sweet 
for months; when it is required, spread it with a knife over 
the poultry, then flour the latter well, and continue to drip it 
as needed. It is excellent for larding veal, also for every 
stuffing instead of suet; the latter, to some people, being 
very indigestible. It is equal to lard in making pastry, and 
in fact, is one of the most useful of all articles in cooking, and 
that without reference to income. It is just these two things 
which general servants of every grade pounce upon as their 
special ‘ perkisites,’ to be replaced by the mistress by expen¬ 
sive lard. In households where the limited amount of income 



COAL AND CINDERS. 51 

is not a constant pressure, it may rest in the choice of the em¬ 
ployer to grant these things, but for twenty-seven or even for 
eighty-seven shillings a week it is simply preposterous. 

u A profuse, unseen, and silent matter of waste is the use 
and abuse of coal and cinders. 4 She actually looks in the 
cinder-box,’ is the frequent remark of one domestic to another; 
the careless, thoughtless girl, little dreaming that cinders are 
as much fuel as coal, that better fires can be kept up with 
sifted cinders than with coal alone, and for bedrooms the 
burning them is safer than coal; there is no danger of their 
sparking about. If, dear Hilly, you wish to do your duty, 
you will certainly insist upon cinders being daily sifted, and 
on the fire in your own sitting-room they will be consumed 
with advantage to yourself, the glow which is thrown out 
from them soon warming the whole room; and a moderate 
use of them should be insisted upon in the kitchen. Coals in 
front of the grate and cinders behind make the best cooking 
fires. I would just say, with reference to the kitchen fire, no 
matter what the income may be, if you find your servant make 
up a fire and in a few minutes begin to break the lumps to 
pieces, and be frequent^ stirring it while cooking, that such 
a servant is not worth salt; she carries the same principle of 
waste without profit into every portion of her management. 
This rule applies equally to servants living in districts where 
the coal is cheap, as well as where it is dear. A large fire, 
unsuitable to the size of the joint, w T ill dry up the juices of 
the meat, leaving it a hard and indigestible mass ; a fire con¬ 
stantly stirred takes all life out of the coals, and powders the 
meat with dust. 

44 The best arrangement for sifting cinders is a box with 
rockers, like a cradle; it has a wire-sifter inside, fitting like 
a tra} 7, in ordinary boxes, and a cover which closes firmly over 
the top. The cinders and ashes being put in the tray, the 
cover is put on; the apparatus can be rocked with the hand 
or foot for tw r o minutes, then left alone; in a quarter of an 
hour, if the cover be taken off, the dust will have subsided, 
the ashes have gone through to the box beneath, leaving the 
cinders ready for use on the top. This simple machine is 
strong, inexpensive, very portable, takes up no room, and 
efficiently does its work; the only care in purchasing one is 
to see that the wires of the sifter are stout and strong, other¬ 
wise they will give way, and the cinders fall through. 



52 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“ And now, dear Milly, I come to that very prolific and 
almost universal source of discomfort, — 

44 SERVANTS. 

“It is a fact, however incredible it may seem, that four 
women out of ten, perhaps a greater number, suffer their ser¬ 
vants to become their mistresses — indeed are actually afraid 
of them. This arises more from the inefficiency of the mis¬ 
tress, which renders her weak and powerless, dependent upon 
the servant for everything, than from any other cause. My 
advice to you, Milly, is to learn everything you possibly can 
belonging to domestic work, even to wash and iron, and never 
say to Bridget’s successor, whenever she comes to you, 4 1 
don’t know ; do it as you like.’ You must feel that Bridget, 
with only the little knowledge she possesses, is a very tyrant 
over you, because she feels that you are dependent upon her 
for the most trifling service, — that all your cooking is guess¬ 
work, — that in washing clothes you would not know the dif¬ 
ference in the result if you were to throw your soiled collars 
into scalding or tepid water. The strongest mind will ever 
be the ruler; it is the natural effect of a cause. Bridget 
would not know how to receive company, or how to play on 
the piano; and if she, by any change of circumstances, were 
suddenly called upon to do so, she would run away in affright, 
and throw herself upon the mercy of any one who could help 
her in her emergency; but had she such knowledge, she would 
hold her own, fear no one, and be respected. 

44 It is the ignorance of the mistress which raises the ser¬ 
vant into a t} 7 rant. This is one bad state of things; but 
those who are clever in every domestic detail, and have a lim¬ 
ited income, so as to be obliged to make one shilling do the 
work of two, have their trials. They can find no servant who 
has experience beyond a smattering knowledge of work or 
cooking, one who is too old to be taught, or one who knows 
not the value of any article of consumption. From such do¬ 
mestics the mistress generally obtains the character of being 
mean, near, and fidgety, and never keeping her servants long, 
and thus she gets into bad repute, so that good servants 
never offer themselves, and she obtains only those who have 
difficulty in obtaining situations elsewhere — though she has 
this reward in her daily martyrdom, that at the end of the 
year she makes both ends meet. If she conceal these grave 


HIRING SERVANTS. 


53 


evils from her husband, she makes his home a happy one, and 
her house orderly ; punctuality is her handmaid, and despatch 
and comfort results of her management; but there is no deny¬ 
ing that, in her daily trials of temper, a more than Spartan 
courage is hers to enable her to meet her husband in the 
evening with the winning gracefulness which he loves so well. 
I am glad, dear Milly, that you now see your husband is one 
to be thought of, to be welcomed, and all work and complain¬ 
ings to be cast aside to make his home joyful. In the old, old 
days of courtship, when the loved one was expected, you 
looked forth many times as if to hasten him on his path, your 
work was cast aside, and all was unthought of but his pres¬ 
ence. I am certain you never dreamt of amusing him with 
the shortcomings of your servants, except it was to relate 
some ludicrous incident, and so your conduct then won him. 
If you now withdraw the screen, and show him the skeleton 
(for in middle-class life, as in any other, there are skeletons 
in every woman’s heart), you stand a chance to make him re¬ 
member with a sigh that such were not the days of old. 

“ Hiring Servants. — If you yourself are educated for a 
wife, not alone for an entanglement in your husband’s affairs, 
you will, in hiring, ask the servant who offers herself what 
she can do, and how she cooks any particular joint or dish of 
fish; say first, ‘How do you cook a leg of mutton?’ You 
will be sure to be told, ‘ I boils it.’ You ask, ‘ But how long 
will a leg of eight pounds take ? ’ The reply will be an hour 
and a half, or two hours and a half, or even an hour, and but 
rarely the right time. ‘ And how do you fry soles ? ’ ‘I fries 
’em.’ ‘ Well, but how? ’ ‘ I puts a little piece of fat in the 

pan, and then I wipes ’em dry and puts ’em in.’ Now, if you 
yourself don’t know how to do better, how can you tell 
whether the girl is right or wrong? Supposing you don’t 
know — you take her into the house, and confusion, wasta. 
and dirt are the consequence ; but perhaps you are clever, and 
discover that the girl is teachable and clean — you take her 
in, instruct her, and make her render you service. 

“ Avoid hiring one who has lived as kitchen-maid in a su< 
perior household — she knows but little more than to waste 
and to make large fires, the latter being most essential to her 
importance, and has a soul above saving dripping, excepting 
for her own purposes. There is one thing I would mention. 
I have found low-classed London servants to have a perfect 
knowledge of the price of dripping; therefore they will use 


54 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

for the same purpose three or four times over that in which 
fish has been fried. Clean dripping, fresh from the meat, they 
can get fivepence a pound for; hence, for themselves they have 
learned to save, and can do so for a mistress if they choose, 
but, unfortunately, they will not. If, when hiring, it is men¬ 
tioned that to sell grease is not permitted, she will understand 
her position, and, if found doing so, the only remedy is to 
discharge her. 

“ Never attempt to hire a servant who professes to be able 
to do everything, and who tells you she 4 doesn’t like a mis¬ 
tress to come into the kitchen.’ Be assured she knows noth¬ 
ing, and will endeavor to upset all your household arrange¬ 
ments and plans. She is one also who is prompt at giving 
notice. 

u Have nothing to say to her who asks you if this or that 
is to be done; one who has never cleaned a knife of* boot, 
4 had no call to do sich things, havin’ been always brought up 
respectable.’ Hire no girl who speaks ill of her former mis¬ 
tress, or who evinces a readiness to betray the affairs of the 
family.” 

It is all very well for Bertha to write thus ; but where shall 
I find a servant at all ? I mentally asked. In London a good 
general servant is not to be had for ten pounds a year ; so Mrs. 
York, a lady who lives near, tells me, and she never exceeds 
eight pounds ; but then, certainly, she is clever, and understands 
all the minutiae of cooking and everything else. I wonder 
who Mrs. York could have been, and what was her occupation 
before marriage, for she sings and plays, draws, and teaches 
her servants to cook and to wash, and she makes her own 
dresses and irons them ; but then her husband has only a hun¬ 
dred and twenty pounds a year, out of which he has managed 
to insure his life for two hundred pounds. I think I must 
take a lesson from her book when Bridget goes, and for the 
moment I wondered if the latter and I should go on together 
to the end. So I reverted to Bertha’s “ rules,” — 

“Respecting a Servant's Character. — Upon no pretext or 
pretence take one without a character for honesty and civility. 
Lay not too much stress on anything else ; what may be clean¬ 
liness in one house may not be thought so in another. Do 
not take a written character ; the appearance of the mistress 
and the house will go far to assist your judgment as to the 


SERVANTS* SHORTCOMINGS : THEIR REMEDY. 55 

SGrvant. Distrust equally a very good or very bad character, 
and do not take a servant who has lived years in a place ; be 
assured she will be mentally making disagreeable comparisons 
between yours and the family she has left, and be so settled 
into their ways that she will not change to yours. Besides, 
depend upon it, she has been tolerated in many shortcomings, 
for which her plea of long service has been sufficient, or she 
would not have been discharged. 

44 Do not, Milly, think I am hard in writing all this ; I only 
bring to your notice facts of my own and my aunt’s experi¬ 
ence. I can give you no certain rules by which you should be 
bound in hiring a servant, as there must be many exceptions, 
and with all possible care much disappointment on both sides 
will doubtless ensue, which the mistress at least must patient¬ 
ly bear. 

44 When a servant first commences her duties, the greatest 
forbearance must be exercised by the mistress, consistent with 
her spoken orders or directions. Avoid telling too much at 
once ; one thing only at a time ; but trust not that it will be 
performed to your satisfaction unless you see that it is so. I 
was once staying in apartments with a most amiable lady 
of fifteen hundred a year income ; one day she said, 4 I have 
asked Margaret to light the fire in my bedroom at seven 
this evening; I wonder if she has done it ? ’ and she rose 
to leave the room. 4 Oh! ’ said I, 4 you may be sure she 
has/ 4 1 am not sure at all,’ she laughingly replied; 4 my 
experience has been this: the first is, to do it yourself, and, 
failing this, to see that it be done. The latter is less trouble 
than to trust and reap disappointment.’ Another friend, 
whom I know to be the best manager of a servant I have 
ever met with, mentions that, in her hiring, for one month 
she accompanies her maid every day through all her duties, 
and until the girl is perfect in the ways of her mistress 
and in the manner of doing the work. If this plan were gen¬ 
erally adopted, with the few exceptions which must neces¬ 
sarily exist, there would be a great degree of comfort where 
now there is utter discomfort; but, of course, this is premising 
that the mistress is herself properly educated in her duties ; 
otherwise she cannot teach. The remedy for the universal out¬ 
cry respecting bad servants is in the hands of the mistresses ; 
they must first be themselves taught, then teach their domestics. 

44 There is always a certain number of good servants to be 
found, but they rarely fall to the lot of middle-class people, 


56 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

and when discovered are cherished beyond price, so that where 
limited incomes cannot be stretched they are to the majority 
unattainable. 

“Be careful to say but little in giving your orders to do¬ 
mestics ; that little must be said in all kindness, but with 
firmness. 

“ Encourage in them no tattling about others’ affairs, but 
in every other respect act as a parent to them, feeling for 
their pain, alleviating it as much as possible, listening to the 
details of their families, and — in young girls especially — to 
every particular respecting their lovers; guide them, appeal 
to the feelings, constantly and practically place before them 
the purport of the Divine maxim, ‘ Do as you would be done 
by.’ If they waste, say, ‘ Would you have done this if you 
had to purchase these things?’ If they tell untruths, en¬ 
deavor to reason with them, to show the utter impolicy, the 
uselessness of their fraud — that confidence cannot be given 
where such a tendency exists ; and though there is no chance 
that even this care and interest will make them one whit bet¬ 
ter, still your duty must be performed, whatever they leave 
undone. 

“ In giving orders care must be taken that they are prac¬ 
ticable ; otherwise a girl will be mentally defiant, and soon 
show it openly. To overwork a girl is cruel, whether it arises 
from thoughtlessness or design. House-keeping realty becomes 
a science when every nerve and thought are exerted in adapt¬ 
ing the means to the end. There are many ways in which a 
mistress may quietly assist her domestic, without the latter 
realty observing it. It is a bad plan to commence w'ith call¬ 
ing a girl’s attention to the fact that 3^011 are helping her ; she 
will then neglect her work and depend upon yoh, at a time, 
perhaps, when it may be inconvenient. Every day should 
have its portion of work performed, so that at the end of the 
week the whole house will have been cleaned through. I know 
3 7 ou have the habit of rising earty, without which I should be 
hopeless of giving 3 r ou help. It is altogether a bad plan to 
call a servant; she will then depend upon 3 r ou, and you will 
become her slave. The habit of earty rising will grow, and 
she will soon fall into it. 

“ As 3 r ou dress your children yourself, and do not trouble 
Bridget in this matter, I have nothing to sa3^ about it, except¬ 
ing that if 3'ou did not you would be compelled to keep an¬ 
other girl, as Bridget’s plan is mine also, of cleaning the 


BILLS OF FARE. 


57 


knives, two sitting-rooms, and passages before eight o’clock. 
*Tis true your little feather brush and silken duster are requi¬ 
site in both rooms ; but this work, I am sure, does not redden 
your hands or require you to put on an especial ugly wrap for 
the occasion. I have admired you for this, and thought the 
children on the rug, crowing with delight to see mamma flit¬ 
ting here and there, and chirping and chatting and crowing 
with them, as perfect a picture as one would desire. In such 
moments I have envied you — envied you the bliss of your 
little ones. This is a subject I resolutely set my face against 
dwelling upon ; so to continue. I wish that in the few mo¬ 
ments you are often waiting for Fred, you would decide upon 
the dinner arrangements for the day, and write them down on 
a strip of paper. ’Tis true your dishes may be few in num 
ber, and very simple, and Bridget certainly aiwaj's recollects ; 
but the time may come when it will be Bridget no longer, and 
in the worry of change and a new face, you will be sadly per¬ 
plexed to recollect even what you intended for dinner. Just 
write your bill of fare for every day thus. Suppose we begin 
with Sunday — dinner for this day, of course, being arranged 
on the day previous : — 


Sunday. 

Roast beef. 

Yorkshire pudding. 

Potatoes. 

Horseradish sauce. 

A tart or pudding. 

Monday. 

Cold beef. 

Roast potatoes. 

Salad, dressed. 

Whole rice pudding without 
eggs. 

To order or get . 

Lettuce, &c. 

Potatoes. 

Tuesday. 

Pea soup. 


Minced beef, or if the joint 
was a sirloin, then the up¬ 
per part will have been 
salted, and so can remain 
another day. 

Mashed parsnips. 

Fried potatoes. 

Apple fritters without eggs. 

To order or get. 

Split peas. 

Potatoes. 

Apples. 

Parsnips. 

Wednesday. 

Sole, or other fish. 

Melted butter, or 

Anchovy sauce. 

Two mutton cutlets. 

Potatoes. 



58 


HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 


To order or get. 

Fish. 

Cutlets. 

Potatoes. 

Thursday. 

Soup made from bones of 
beef, and thickened with 
Scotch barley. 

The top of the beef that was 
salted stewed with carrots, 
and an onion with four 
cloves inserted. 

Potatoes. 

To order or get. 

Scotch barley. 

Potatoes. 

Onions. 

Carrots. 


Friday. 

4 

Liver and bacon. 

Spinach and poached eggs, or 
Stewed neck of mutton. 
Potatoes and turnips. 

Saturday. 

Stewed steak. 

Boiled onions. 

Potatoes. 

Rhubarb tart. 

Sunday. 

Roast fillet of mutton. 
Greens. 

Potatoes. 

Fruit pudding, or 
Jam roll.. 


“ It is economical to have a whole leg of mutton, and have 
it cut in half, so as to roast one end and boil the other, and 
by these means a roast and cold, boiled and minced, may be 
obtained, also a soup. 

“ Remember every day to write down your orders, never to 
give them only verbally to a servant, although it will be neces¬ 
sary to read them to her as well as to give her the written 
instructions.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SICKNESS OF BERTHA’S STEP-SON-A VISIT AND ITS CONSE¬ 
QUENCES -HOW TO KEEP BUTTER AND WATER COOL. 

I 

Bertha Chapman’s “ rules” suddenly came to an end, for 
in a few lines she informed me that anything further must be 
delayed to a future time, her step-son Robert having met with 
an accident which had caused concussion of the brain. My 
heart bled for the tortured father ; for this only son was the 
crowning blessing of his life. It need scarcely be told how 


v 





4 


A SUPPER PRETTILY FURNISHED. 


59 


my heart sympathized with Bertha and her husband in their 
deep grief. “ There was no hope,” were the last words of her 
letter. After this I daily looked for tidings of Robert’s death, 
but none came. “He lingers on unconscious of us all,” was 
the last news. 

A lady, her husband, and children had come to reside near 
us. She called one morning, and I found her extremely 
pleasant and agreeable. I did not return her call, till one 
evening Fred and I, in passing her house, were greeted with a 
friendly nod as she and her husband w^ere just entering their 
door. She came towards us, and insisted upon our joining 
them. My husband hated fuss, so I thought it best at once 
to comply. An hour soon passed in pleasant conversation, 
for both Mr. and Mrs. Gray were well informed. Everything 
in the furnishing of the rooms appeared neat, some even ele¬ 
gant, and all bore traces of a refinement much above the style 
of house they were inhabiting. Presently the folding-doors 
of the two small rooms were thrown open, and a channingly- 
laid-out supper appeared. There was a well-dressed lobster 
salad, the remains of a cold joint, bread, butter, and cheese; 
and on the centre of the table stood a small spreading basket 
of freshly-gathered roses and mignonette, perfuming the whole 
atmosphere with their fragrance. We were overpowered with 
the hospitality of our kind friends, and consented to share 
what they termed their usual evening meal. 

I looked with more of curiosity than of appetite upon the 
tempting repast thus so pleasantly displayed. There were no 
expensive articles of food; lobsters and lettuces were at their 
cheapest. But what was it that made the whole affair look as 
if it had been spread for royalty ? A second glance was suffi- 
* cient. The table-cloth, although not spotless, looked nearly 
so. Each fold of the damask, as it had been sent from the 
laundress, had been carefully kept; no roughness appeared 
on its surface, and it was only upon near examination one 
could discover that it had done duty for perhaps two days or 
more. The silver, if silver it was, sparkled in its brightness ; 
the glasses were clear and thin, and the knives shone with un¬ 
dimmed lustre. All this, with the fragrant mignonette and 
many-tinted roses, gave an indescribable charm to the simple 
repast. Visions of my own neglect in these apparently trifling 
but really important matters rose up as accusers, and I deter¬ 
mined to have no more carelessness in this respect. Soon 
after we commenced supper wine was introduced ; my husband 


60 


HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 




gave me a glance, which I well understood. It was sherry, of 
a very indifferent quality, but served in an exquisitely cut de¬ 
canter. Without entering into further particulars, I need only 
say we spent a very pleasant evening, and mutual civilities 
having passed, we returned home. During our walk I said,— 

“ The evening has been a pleasant one ; but I fear we must 
give up visiting Mrs. Gray. You know we cannot afford wine ; 
besides, I am too proud to place wine of indifferent quality 
before our guests. I hate shams, and this is one of them ; but 
how shall we manage about the return visit?” 

“ It is just this which is perplexing me,” replied my hus¬ 
band ; “ it so happens that I know Bertie Adams, who filled 
the situation Mr. Gray is now in, and I know that he had 
barely two hundred a year. Possibly these people may have 
other means. However, be that as it might, we cannot give 
lobster salads and sherry for supper; so I suppose we must 
fight shy.” 

“ That will not do, at all events, till we have invited them 
back. If Bertha were here, I know what she would say and 
do, and I feel as if I had gained some courage from thinking 
of her. She hates all subterfuge — so do I, and it will be 
better to commence our intercourse in the same way we should 
be compelled to continue it. We dine late, and do not take 
suppers. If they come to us, it must be to our tea, and this 
meal must be the extent of our hospitality.” 

“Well, little one, I don’t see what else we can offer them 
if we mean to be honest. Twenty-seven shillings a week 
won’t go far in refreshments for visitors, and ourselves to live 
out of it. Perhaps we had better give it up.” 

“I do not quite like to do this,” I replied. “ Mrs. Gray is 
evidently a gentlewoman, and has been accustomed to some¬ 
thing more than her present means. I wonder how she man¬ 
ages ? ” 

“ Never mind how she manages, so that we keep straight,” 
replied my husband, somewhat pettishly. 

No more was then said upon what was evidently a sore sub¬ 
ject. Two or three weeks passed on, during which time I 
constantly bore in mind the brightness of the silver, the un¬ 
creased cloth, and the flowers, and the general effect of the 
pleasant repast we had enjoyed. Tins scene was so ever¬ 
present to my vision that every day I endeavored to produce, 
not only on my table but in the decorations of the room, a 
similar effect, and in a great measure I succeeded; so that, 


MORAL COURAGE. 


61 


when Mr. and Mrs. Gray called as we were sitting down to 
tea, my husband, who had hitherto appeared unobservant, 
looked with a pleased smile on the general arrangements. 
The teapot — albeit not silver nor silver-plated — and the 
teaspoons and toast-rack looked their brightest; and though I 
had but few roses, and only flowers of the commonest kind, 
still there they were, and arranged, as Mr. Gray said, like a 
picture. 

“ You have exquisite taste in grouping flowers, Mrs. Alli¬ 
son ; you are an artist, I fancy,” he continued. 

“ If you mean that I appreciate an artistic design or a good 
painting, then you are correct; but I do not paint nor sketch.” 

“ I mean that you have blended the colors of these flowers 
so well, and contrasted their several tints with such appropri¬ 
ate foliage, that I fancied you must have an artist’s talent. 
Why, positively, you have made a simple dinner dish do duty 
for a costlier vase, and with capital effect. That exquisite 
outer border of fern leaves, then the inward one of migno¬ 
nette, then the scarlet geranium, and finally the white roses. 
Why, the arrangement is quite a studj^. You have them in 
wet sand, of course?” 

“ No ; not sand. Simple water, with morsels of moss stuffed 
in to keep the blooms upright, is all I use. I also put in vari¬ 
ous places small pieces of charcoal, which prevents all decay¬ 
ing or earthy smell.” 

“ Your plan is an excellent one ; I shall adopt it,” said 
Mrs. Gray ; “ and I also admire your plan of placing migno¬ 
nette and scarlet geraniums in these china saucers; they are 
infinitely prettier than more costly appliances, which keep one 
in a perpetual fidget lest they should get broken.” 

u I scarcely know whether I may be permitted to offer you 
tea; but if you will join us we shall be pleased,” I said, with 
some nervousness. 

Our friends were delighted, or appeared to be so ; and cer¬ 
tainly an hour or two passed away pleasantly enough; then 
Mr. and Mrs. Gray left. We had neither introduced wine, 
nor had other amusement than conversation. 

A fortnight elapsed, our friends again called, and I was 
upon the point of promising to spend the following evening 
with them, when my husband said, — 

u Pardon me for a moment, Milly. We shall be very glad to 

retain your friendship, Mr. Gray ; but our income is evidently 

so much less than yours that we should not fe ^ 1 

6 




62 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAH. 

to partake of your hospitality, for we cannot offer you an 
equivalent in return, and so we will be very friendly without a 
closer intercourse. I beseech you to excuse my seeming abrupt¬ 
ness, — almost incivility, — but we can only afford to visit on 
such terms as will not encroach in a material degree upon our 
very limited income.” 

“ What do you mean, Allison? You have supped with us 
but once. What did we give you more than we have received 
from you? Indeed, I feel that we are greatly your debtors 
for your extremely pleasant society.” 

“It is kind of you to say this! but still I feel there is a 
bar to hospitality. You can afford to place wine and knick- 
knacks before your friends, which we cannot do, and therefore 
cannot accept from them. It is best to summon courage, and 
speak out. I fear my little wife and myself must depend on 
ourselves alone for society. Everywhere I see a tendency to 
luxury which we dare not imitate, inasmuch as debt looms in 
the distance. So, my good friends, we will meet with pleasure, 
but that is all.” 

I felt as if I should have sunk with confusion at this speech, 
though I could not but know that my husband was right, and 
that a higher feeling of respect stole over me at his bravery ; 
for one can often meet disaster with equanimity, while one can¬ 
not step aside from conventional rules without trembling, 
however much that step may be necessary. 

Mr. Gray at first appeared astonished, while his wife looked 
apparently as if she coincided with all she had heard, and 
when Fred ceasecl to speak, she hastily said, — 

“ Mr. Allison, you are right. We can no more afford wine 
than you can; indeed, I question if our income is as large as 
yours, and I know that this matter of wine in our expendi¬ 
ture makes no small item in our accounts, but on the contrary 
is somewhat heavy to meet. Both Mr. Gray and myself came 
from a home where good wine was always one of the neces¬ 
saries of our family; and, unfortunately, if we did not think 
it one of our own necessities, we imagined it indispensable to 
set it before our guests ; but we have never been able to com¬ 
pass the wine of our home, and I have always thought it mean 
to set before people that kind which our not plethoric purse 
compelled us to do, and I thank you very, very much for the 
lesson you have given us.” 

Mr. Gray held out his har^ 


VALUABLE FRIENDSHIPS. 


63 


“Very well, old fellow; I thank you heartily. Do not 
fancy you have got rid of us.” 

“Nor do I wish that; indeed, I shall be very grateful to 
both of you if you will accept the hospitality we can give with 
a welcome which could not otherwise be accorded, and give us 
in return your pleasant society.” 

u But you don’t mean to say you won’t come to our house 
at all ? ” 

“No, that is not my meaning; we will come as often as 
you want us, but not always to eat and drink.” 

And thus we secured two of the most valuable friends we 
ever had. The Grays admired my husband’s moral courage, 
and thought highly of him ; the opinion thus formed was of 
infinite service to us on one eventful occasion, the details of 
which I need not enter into here. Pleasantly time passed on. 
Mrs. Gray had no children, and, as she became devoted to 
mine, spent more time at our house than would otherwise have 
been the case. I found so much pleasure in receiving her, as 
there was no expense attending it; nor did I hesitate to go to 
her house as frequently as I felt inclined. Indeed, my hus¬ 
band’s moral courage had given me strength to apply his prin¬ 
ciple of abstaining from false appearances, that I felt losing 
my self-respect if I ever attempted a sham. Twenty-seven 
shillings a week — these words seemed to be endowed with 
vitality ; they were ever palpably rising before me whenever I 
was tempted to indulge in petty extravagances — whenever I 
desired to put on an importance not warranted by my income ; 
in the words of the day, “doing the grand.” All who marry 
upon £200 per annum must be educated for such a limit, or 
must educate themselves for it; and they may be very happy, 
perhaps happier than with £2000 per annum. They must be 
early risers, methodical managers, have an intimate knowledge 
of wholesome cookery and useful needle-work; must be eco¬ 
nomical of time, careful of waste pieces, of dripping, of suet, 
of bones, and of cinders, which are all of the greatest use in 
household management, which must be had, and, if not cared 
for, will be found expensive articles to buy, — so much so that 
three hundred a year income will not suffice to replace the 
deficiency. 

Some house-keepers say they find it a better plan to pay for 
everything as it comes in from the different tradesmen ; others 
prefer to buy at once sufficient of every article to make a 
store. The proverb, “A store is no sore,” is in one sense 


I 


64 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAH. 

pernicious; but, as proverbs cut both ways, there may be 
many instances, no doubt, where a store has proved a god¬ 
send, but in house-keeping matters upon twenty-seven shil¬ 
lings a week a store is an evil, from there being no check upon 
the consumption. My own plan was always to have a book 
from every tradesman who supplied my wants, in which once a 
week I entered all I required, and only sufficient for the 
week’s consumption — tea, sugar, coffee, and bacon; butter, 
if the grocer supplied me (and he generally did), I had twice 
a week. Bridget had her half-pound weekly. This in price 
was nearly the same as that for our own consumption ; but as 
she was never very careful whether she cut it with a clean 
knife, or keep it melting in the kitchen under the influence of 
the fire and gas, it was not very palatable when it made its 
appearance at our table ; hence I chose that our butter should 
be kept distinct, and, indeed, I always had it under my own 
management, both in winter and summer. In the latter, the 
hot weather melted away poor Bridget’s into oil, and she never 
could be made “ to fuss as missis do,” for her own comforts. 
I never could teach her the principle of how butter or water 
could be kept cool by evaporation ; not that I ever mentioned 
such a long word to her, for she would have 'fancied it some 
magical talisman which operated upon the butter, instead of 
the result being the exercise of her own common sense. 

“ Now, missis, how can that drop o’ water make the butter 
hard?” washer question one day, when she saw me put a 
half-pound of butter into our glass butter-dish. 

“ I will tell you, if you will but observe, Bridget.” 

“ I do observe ye every day, m’m, but I’m none the wiser.” 

“Well, watch me once again. You see I put about half a 
teacupful of cold water into this soup-plate; standing in this 
is the butter-dish containing the butter.” 

“ Sliure, then, why don’t you put the cowld water on the 
butter? ” 

“ That must never be, because the water would soon set 
warm from the hot air; but I keep the hot air off by dipping 
this old table-napkin in water, placing it over the butter dish, 
letting the whole of the other portion of the napkin be tucked 
into the water in the soup-plate ; then you see the water rises 
continually over the napkin, making the air which surrounds 
the butter cool instead of hot.” 

“ Sliure it’s you is the clever one : but it’s a terrible sight 


4* 


HOW TO KEEP BUTTER AND WATER COOL. 


65 


o’ trouble, though the butter’s as hard as a flint, an’ it keeps 
swate, too.” 

“ It’s no trouble at all, Bridget, once a day to give fresh 
water, twice a week to scald the napkin and the butter-dish 
with boiling w r ater; then, when cold, let both stay in cold 
water for an hour. And see the comfort you have.” 

“ An’ that’s thrue for you. If I’d only been trained I might 
lia’ been as clever as yourself. An’ what’s the use of all that 
melted saltpetre and salt round the filter? Won’t water do 
for that as well ? ” 

“ No ; because the filter is somewhat thicker than this table- 
napkin, and the coldness of water is not sufficient. So you 
see I melt a handful of salt and a table-spoonful of saltpetre in 
a quart of water, place it in this shallow pan, then stand the 
filter in it; dip a wet cloth in water, then place it over the 
filter so that the edges of the cloth shall lie in the mixture, 
and all I have to do for a month is to renew the water in the 
pan every day, when you know the w r ater which is daily put 
into the filter is as cool as ice.” 

“ But why do you have the filter put in a draught? ” 

“ Because the air in a draught is cooler, and as constantly 
as the surface of the wet cloth is dried by the surrounding air, 
the sides of the cloth being laid in the mixture causes the 
moisture to ascend, and thus prevents the hot air from ap¬ 
proaching the filter. Now, Bridget, if you ever marry, and 
wish to make the water cool for your family to drink, you 
need not have a filter. Just fill a pitcher with cold water; 
place the pitcher in a basin which has water in it; wring out 
a clean cloth in cold water; cover over the pitcher with the 
cloth, taking care that all the edges of the cloth are tucked 
into the basin in which you have stood the pitcher, and you 
need not trouble yourself more. In two hours the 'water will 
be deliciously cool.” 

“ ’Tis thrue, m’m, but I can’t tell why it should be cowld. 
An’ I can’t tell to this day why, when I lived at Dr. Howton’s, 
he should do such a funny thing as this : — One of the children 
was very weakly an’ rickety, an’ used to have swellings come 
out in its neck, an’ its little ankles used to give way. Well, 
every night an’ morning this child used to be bathed, and shure 
the doctor made the bath jist like this : — We had two long, 
narrow washing-tubs ; both used to be nearly filled every da} r 
with cold water ; he would have rain-water when ’twas to bo 
had, an’ if we couldn’t git it we jist had t’other. 


66 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

“ The fun of it was he would have both these baths placed 
in the sun, an’ in the bottom of each he had more than a poun’ 
of roll brimstone an’ a teacupful of bay-salt mixed with it; 
well, this stood in the sun all day, an’ before the sun set one 
bath was brought in, an’ t’other was left out an’ was covered 
over with a deal board which fitted nicely on the top. The 
one we brought in we put a quart of boiling w T ater into, an* 
then the child went in of his own accord, for the doctor would 
throw in some bits o’ toys like goold, and so the child wanted 
to fetch ’em out. 

“ He used to be kep’ in for five minutes, the doctor splash¬ 
ing him about an’ playing wi’ him ; he would ne^er let the 
child be still a minnit. Then -we tuk him up and wiped him 
wi’ very soft cloths, put on his little flannel gown, and then 
the doctor rubbed his ankles very gently, an’ the great lump 
in his neck, an’ I put him to bed an’ he slep’ all night. An’ 
shure, a’most afore daylight, the doctor called out, 4 Bridget, 
put the bath out in the sun an’ take off the cover : ’ so down I 
went an’ out of doors an’ done jist as he bid me, an’ so my 
moving about woke up the little one (for he slep’ in a crib by 
my side), an’ when I come back I gave him a bit o’ bread and 
butter an’ a cup o’ swate milk, which I always tuk up the 
night afore, an’ then the little fellow would sleep on till eight 
o’clock, when we brought in t’other bath an’ done jist the same 
as we did the night afore. An’ instead of his flannel gown 
a-top of his other clothes, he had a gray woollen dress, which 
was as thin as flannel. Old nurse said ’twas flannel, for mas¬ 
ter had it dyed a-purpose to make the child coats. An’ the 
funniest thing of all was that the child had alwa} r s cold milk 
and water to drink ; ’twas fresh every day, but in the bottom 
of the jug there was alwaj^s a leetle bit o’ roll brimstone. 
After a while this brimstone was cracked with a hammer, an’ 
maister said all the vartues come out of it again. 

“ He had some quare notions the maister had, for cook had 
to boil down some shin o’ beef to make strong clear beef jelly, 
so that you could cut it with a spoon, and the child ate two 
table-spoonfuls every day, mixed it with his mate and bread, 
for the little sick one couldn’t ate much mate, an’ so he was 
made to nourish hisself another way.” 

. “ Did the child get well, Bridget?” I asked. 

“Yes, that he did , an’ he’s as fine a boy as ever walked. 
Nurse said ’twarn’t maister’s own child, and that there was 
lots o’ money dependin’ upon his life; and when he comes 


THE SULPHUR BATH. 


67 


» 


into his fortin, I’m shure he ought to give the maister a big 
share for all the care he took o’ him. I did hear thtft his 
mother was a gran’lady, an’ the doctor fell in love wi’ her, 
but he never tould her — so ’tis said ; an’ yet, just before she 
died, she said that if Dr. Howton took her child he would save 
his life — an’ shure he did, be the blessing o’ God.” 

“ I should think the plan he adopted a very sensible one. 
I am at a loss to know myself why the baths were placed in 
the sun. Did you break brimstone and bay-salt every day in 
the baths? ” 

“ Oh, no ; fresh baj^-salt was put in twice a week, and then 
the brimstone was jist cracked in a fresh place ; so that every 
day, after the boy was bathed an’ the water had settled, it was 
jist thrown away, all but a little above the brimstone, an’ then 
both baths was left in the sun for three hours, then they were 
half filled wi’ water, and left till a little before the sun set; 
one of’em was brought in, and t’other was covered up.” 

“ But how did you manage in the winter, when there was 
but little sun?” I asked: , 

“ Well, the tubs were put out jist the same, only we didn’t 
put quite so much water in ’em, an’ we put a little more ba}^- 
salt, and a little hotter water in before the child went in. 
The doctor said the boy’s narves were never to be shook on a 
sudden, and we were never even in fun to frighten him : but 
he didn’t grow up a coward for all that.” 

“ I have often thought you had a wonderful way with chil¬ 
dren, Bridget; } t ou would make a capital nurse.” Bridget 
colored, and, looking down shyly, said, — 

“ If you please, m’m, I’m going to be bould enough to tell 
you a bit of a sacret. Patrick, m’m, asked me last Sunday 
to have our names called in church.” 

“ What! to be married?” I asked, in dismay. 

“If you please, m’m,” answered Bridget, curling up her 
apron and looking down, and coloring up to her eyes. 

“ But, Bridget, you are so much older than he is.” 

“ Shure, an’ it’s the better wife I’ll make him than one of 
them spalpeens that’s got a bunch of garden stuff on their 
heads—a bonnet I s’pose tlmy call ’em — and barrel-hoops 
round their gowns which sweep up all the muck o’ the streets.” 

Bridget’s last remark was unanswerable, and I left her with¬ 
out another word, so vexed was I at this announcement. 

Two months passed away, and Bridget had left me; her 
place filled—-but, alas! not supplied. Now, indeed, my, 


68 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

house-keeping troubles began. I had obtained an excellent 
character with the new girl, which proved a fallacy ; her only 
good point was honest}^; otherwise she was dirty, careless, 
and slow — so slow that it could be called nothing else than 
idleness. Again and again I changed my damsels, all to no 
purpose. Well, thought I, I must turn servant myself; this 
can never go on. I shall get a bad name in the neighbor¬ 
hood ; besides, the plan of changing began to get expensive. 
Twenty-seven shillings a week! — oh, how this galled me ! 
but now I see, that had I had fifty shillings a week the result 
would have been the same. I had trusted implicitly to Bridget 
in everything. Did my husband want breakfast an hour ear¬ 
lier, Bridget had it ready. Did he want an egg poached, how 
nicely it came with the yellow just blushing through its dainty 
envelope of snowy white ! The toast, which under Bridget’s 
reign was crisp as the freshest biscuit, under the new regime 
was converted into slices of leather. All the little items which 
went to make up a whole of comfort had suddenly vanished. 
The knives were dim, the cloth was tumbled, the plates were 
rough and smeared, the water had never boiled, and so the 
first miserable meal of the day passed over. Others followed ; 
the meat was sodden and peppered with coal-dust; the greens 
were rusty, and potatoes watery ; and as for punctuality, not 
one of my hired hindrances knew what it meant. 

I wrote to Bertha to send me a servant. Her reply was, — 

“ Get an active girl, and teach her yourself, dear Milly ; be 
independent. I know not where to find you an experienced 
woman like Bridget, who has grown into your ways ; but take 
some likely young girl of eighteen, teach her all you know, 
and possibly you may learn much from her; for a month or 
two be with her in the kitchen from early morning till late. 
But, alas! I forgot that you are not accomplished enough 
yourself to bake, toast, or poach an egg — both delicate oper¬ 
ations, by the way, worthy the genius of an artiste. 

“ Just ask your husband to let you come here with the 
children for a month, or discharge your present servant, and 
let Bridget and Patrick keep house till you return. You will 
gain some experience with me which you cannot obtain at 
home.” 

The affair was soon settled; a week found me under Ber¬ 
tha’s hospitable roof, saddened though it was by the almost 
imbecility of Robert, who had never recovered from his fall, 
and daily became more childish. In vain the best medical 


DINNER CALCULATIONS. 


69 


advice had been obtained — it was useless, and each week 
found him less able to move about, less capable of under¬ 
standing or of recognizing his friends. Then it was that 
Bertha shone out as true woman — the consoler of her hus¬ 
band — the nurse of the afflicted. With what untiring pa¬ 
tience did she seek to amuse him, to tempt his appetite, to 
elicit one glimmering of sense, but without avail! How 
watchful was her love — how untiring her interest! Had his 
appetite failed at breakfast, in an hour she came with some 
restorative, prepared by her own hands, for his sustenance. 
How I envied her the domestic knowledge she possessed! 
How, from seeing the comfort she everywhere scattered 
around her, I determined, come what would, to imitate 
her! 

After breakfast on the morning succeeding my arrival, 
“ Milly,” said Bertha, 44 come with me into the kitchen, and 
see how I manage for the day. Old cook has gone home for 
a holiday, and will not return for three weeks; she has gone 
to Scotland. I have only her niece to act as cook, and her 
experience is not great, though she is not so very young. In¬ 
deed, I very much fear that I must be the 4 guiding star * for 
to-day’s luncheon and dinner, if one can judge from her at¬ 
tempts of yesterday.” 

44 What is that list you have in your hand?” I asked. 

44 That is simply my bill of fare for the day, with the 
tradesmen’s orders.” 

44 Allow me to look,” said I. 

44 Certainly ; read it aloud,” she replied. 

44 Salmon and anchovy sauce; roast lamb, mint sauce; 
ducks, peas, potatoes ; cherry tart; corn-flour pudding. 

44 To order: — Fishmonger — Two and a half pounds of 
salmon. Butcher — Shoulder of lamb, four pounds. Poul¬ 
terer — Two ducks. Green-grocer — A quart of shelled peas, 
two pounds of new potatoes, one pound of cherries.” 

44 IIow very exact you are respecting the weight and meas¬ 
ure !.” said I. 

44 This, of course, a good house-keeper will always be,” she 
replied. 

44 But how can you tell how much people will eat? For 
instance, why do you say two and a half pounds of salmon ? 
IIow many persons will dine off that to-day ? ” 

44 Only four; but I find that frequently we have a visitor, 
who comes from a long distance, and generally stays to dim 


i 


70 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

ner. I never like to be taken unprepared, for it is a mile and 
a half from hence to the shops in the village. I always cal¬ 
culate half a pound of fish, such as salmon, cod, or turbot, 
to each person — it will not weigh so much when cooked. 
Soles, of course, I calculate as to their thickness ; but I al- 
wa}^s choose a sole which, when the head and extremity of 
tail are cut off at the table, shall be divided into two por¬ 
tions, consequently, we should but require one pair if we were 
going to have them to-day. Sometimes I have one very thick 
fish, and divide it into three pieces before it is fried, and this 
is a very nice way of cooking them, or thick soles filleted — 
that is, the bones taken out — are very nice. You are sure to 
be right if you calculate in this manner.” 

“ Well, then, as to the meat; how can you tell how much 
will be eaten of this ? ” 

“ I do not usually calculate so closely respecting meat un¬ 
less there are six or nine people to partake of it. In the lat¬ 
ter case, I should reckon a pound of meat to each person; 
not that any one would eat a pound, or half a pound, but you 
must consider that before the meat comes to the table, in ad¬ 
dition to the bone of the joint, there are always superfluous 
fat, superfluous bits, outsides, and waste by cooking ; all this 
must be taken into consideration. For instance, take a sir¬ 
loin of beef weighing ten pounds, just such as the butcher 
usually sends; take from this the suet, the thin portion of 
the end (which I consider a waste to roast, as it will make a 
second dish for the next day), j^ou w r ill find the joint not too 
much to place before eight persons, although you may have a 
second dish of poultry, or cutlet, or mince, or chops. I am 
now speaking of homely family dinners, not company din¬ 
ners ; these are quite different affairs.” 

u I don’t want to know about company dinners,” said I. 
“ Twenty-seven shillings a week won’t entertain much com¬ 
pany.” 

“ You speak contemptuously of a sum which thousands 
have not, and thousands more have to provide every necessary 
of life with, which hardship 3^011 have not to endure.” 

“ I am your pupil,” was ny reply ; 44 so pray go on.” 

“ What is the next thing 3 T ou wish to know? ” 

“ Simply why 3^011 order the peas to come ready shelled in¬ 
stead of shelling them at home ? ” 

“ If all my servants were in their places, I should infinitely 
prefer to have them shelled at home, — for this reason, that if 



THE VIRTUES OF RHUBARB JUICE. 


71 


you purchase them out of the pod, the shellers have selected 
the largest pods irrespective of their age; consequently, the 
peas are almost invariably old ; and as I object very much to 
charwomen’s assistance, I save my servants — when I have 
but two — all trouble that I can. Of course I could not shell 
them myself, as I am liable to interruption every moment 
from some visitor ; therefore I employ the grocer, who usually 
charges threepence a peck for shelling, and a peck should yield 
a quart of peas, when they are in full season.” 

44 I didn’t know that before; and, like Captain Cuttle, I’ll 
4 make a note of it.* And you are going to have cherry tart 
to-day — you are a happy woman to be able to have such ex¬ 
pensive treats. Why, I was asked an extravagant price for a 
pound before I left home.” 

44 These were foreign cherries, and not fit for baking. Our 
own as you perceive, are not nearty ripe; but these cherries 
are brought here from the village ; we buy them now at eight- 
pence a pound ; and these mixed with rhubarb cut very small, 
make a tart not to be distinguished from one made of all 
cherries.” 

44 Rhubarb?” said I, much in the tone that the old dame 
answered her husband when he asked, “ Whose boots may 
these be?” 

44 Yes, rhubarb. I’ll tell you a secret about that. You 
must allow that it is very wholesome ; however, I know it to 
be such. Well, then, understand that rhubarb takes all fla¬ 
vors, but gives none, and, therefore, helps to make up a defi¬ 
ciency of more costly material. For instance, if 3'ou desire 
to make a large tart, and have only half a pint of raspberries 
to make it with, how would you manage it? Raspberries are 
expensive to buy, and go no way.” 

44 Ah, well, I can’t tell; I must go without it, I suppose.” 

44 Not so ; you have only to mince the rhubarb very small, 
wash it well before, and particularly after mincing; stir up 
the sugar with it, and bake it till soft; then, when cold , stir 
in your raspberries, make your tart, and bake it only suffi¬ 
ciently long to cook the paste. The raspberries are sure to 
be dressed enough. My aunt used to say there were many 
contrivances which expensive cooks made their employers pay 
for, but never had. Many things can be made from rhubarb 
of which an inexperienced person would never dream. Cider 
was at one time the basis of artificial wine ; rhubarb answers 
better. Rhubarb makes a good imitation hock, moselle, and 


72 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

champagne, both still and sparkling, and from it can also be 
made an excellent imitation of sherry, to which sweet al¬ 
monds, with a few bitter ones, "would impart a 4 nutty flavor/ 

44 From rhubarb you may make what .would be taken for 
4 preserved ginger,’ a simple, inexpensive, and pleasant addi¬ 
tion to the dessert. You may give it a fine name, and flavor 
it with orange, with lemon or almond flavoring, and present 
it as a Chinese or Japanese novelty. 

44 You may boil rhubarb and black currants together till you . 
have extracted the juice from both ; then strain it through two 
sieves of a different fineness ; then boil it with its weight in 
sugar, and you have black currant jelly. Flavor the simple 
juice of rhubarb with lemon peel and stick cinnamon, and you 
have quince jelly. Flavor it slightly with lemon and almond 
flavoring, and you have apple jelly. 

“Boil the simple juice with sugar onty, and a small portion 
of treacle, till it is dark and thick, and you have the best col¬ 
oring imaginable for gravies and soups. 

44 Again boil the juice with an equal quantity of loaf sugar 
and some red currants; strain it, and when boiling drop in 
singly some ripe strawberries, and a more delicious addition 
to dessert in winter cannot be put on the table. In fact, the 
capabilities of rhubarb are so various that they can scarcely 
be enumerated. 

44 There are a few things you must observe ; an important 
one is, for mixing with any fruit, the juice must be first ex¬ 
tracted by boiling without s'hgar, and then be strained. This 
is now the basis* or foundation upon which to build other 
flavors, other deceptions, for the admixture is no less, but un¬ 
like most others, the deceit is incapable of being discovered.” 

“But how can you make artificial ginger?” I asked: 44 for 
prepared ginger is a weakness of mine.” 

44 Milly, you had better write down the instructions I give 
3 r ou, they may be of use to you some day ; my aunt collected 
them with great care, and I think I have somewhat improved 
upon them, because I purpose giving you the reasons why 
such and such directions are to be observed; and this infor¬ 
mation my own experience has taught me.” 

44 Well, then, about the ginger?” 

“Boil down a sufficient quantity of rhubarb till the juice is 
tolerably clear, and the rhubarb is separated into fibre; then 
strain it through a flannel bag, pointed at one end as jelly- 
bags usually are. I have found it better for the purpose to 


THE MISTRESS IN THE KITCHEN. 73 

make first a Berlin canvas bag, pointed at one end like a fun¬ 
nel, then a few inches below this hang the jelly-bag; the can¬ 
vas facilitates the running through. While this process is going 
on, or at the commencement of the work, put in a caper bottle 
(because it has a wide mouth and is ready to hand) two ounces 
of raw ginger cut into thin slices; fill up the bottle with com¬ 
mon spirits of wine, or strong gin or brandy; let it macerate 
till it is of tolerable strength; this is ginger extract. Weigh 
the juice of the rhubarb, or measure it in a half-pint glass; to 
every pound of juice put a pound of loaf-sugar; let it boil till 
it is like a thick syrup, but very clear; if it be thick, strain 
it through coarse muslin or a sieve. Let the syrup boil, then 
have ready some pieces of fresh rhubarb a half-finger in length; 
when the syrup is boiling drop in the rhubarb piece by piece, 
let^it boil till tender, then pour it into a large basin or dish, 
stir it occasionally till nearly cold, then stir in the ginger ex¬ 
tract. Place the rhubarb in layers in jars or wide-mouthed 
bottles, putting layers of racemes of ginger between each layer 
of rhubarb, then tie it down securely, and when sending a 
portion to table be careful that the ginger is kept back.” 

“Bertha, how kind you are to enter into all these particu¬ 
lars ! I shall ever look with respect upon rhubarb, which I 
have hitherto despised as being a mere substitute for fruit.” 

“ That comes from forming a prejudice against anything 
you don’t understand. But come with me into the kitchen, or 
eleven o’clock will be here before I know where I am.” 

“ But your time is your own — what does it signify an hour 
earlier or later ? ” 

“ My time is not my own, dear Milly, only certain portions 
of it. We have been one hour at breakfast, I cannot call that 
period my own ; otherwise, if I did, I should be entitled to do 
anything I liked — read, work, or go out. No, this hour be¬ 
longs to the breakfast-table ; the next, from ten to eleven, to 
the kitchen; and the next I am with the house-maid settling 
the folds of curtains, or arranging the draperies of a toilet 
table, or doing the thousand and one things that a house-maid 
does not see are even necessary. Besides, my eyes in this 
time do more work than both my hands. At twelve I am in 
the dining-room to receive visitors ; my time certainly is theirs. 
I am obliged to do this every day in the country. If I were 
in London and had many acquaintances, I certainly should 
only be at home to them once a week; but here it is different, 

our friends are not numerous, live a long way off, and gen- 

r 


74 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

erally manage to get here before two o’clock. Besides, they 
are all old friends — not acquaintances — of long standing; 
to play the fine lady to them would not do. When no visitors 
are here, my husband and myself, with poor Robert, walk or 
drive. The evenings, as you well know, are spent in home 
amusements. So that you see, dear Milly, the only time that 
I can really call mine is before breakfast, while my husband 
is out in the grounds among the laborers; and that is the 
leisure when I and Martin, the gardener, have long confabu¬ 
lations about my pets — the flowers ; when I write my letters, 
and perform other little matters pertaining to myself alone. 
Even when the girls are at home they do not intrude upon 
me; so that these quiet two hours before breakfast are really 
all my own.” 

“And when do you sew at the needle-work of the house?” 

“ Needle-work I put out, by my husband’s desire. There 
are dependents upon his estate whom it is better to employ 
than to permit them to live on charity. At the lodge there is 
an afflicted orphan girl, whose father was killed while blasting 
a portion of the rock yonder, which you see in the distance. 
The news of his death struck the nervous system of the 
mother, so that when this child was born it was deaf and 
dumb. My husband placed the child under the care of the 
lodge people. She has now grown up to be very intelligent, 
beyond being a most industrious worker. Now, not another 
word, Milly ; Elizabeth’s patience will be exhausted ; besides, 
it’s getting near the servants’ dinner hour; so into the kitchen 
at once let us go.” 

In the kitchen I was surprised to find laid out on the table 
all the spare cold meat, a handsome piece of bacon, butter, 
eggs, and cheese, soup stock, with a cake of fat on the top; 
in another dish was all the material for making other soup ; 
on one side the table on a chair the bread-pan was placed. I 
was very curious to know what all this was for, though I did 
not speak. Bertha took the baker’s book with pen and ink, 
and said, — 

“ You have wiped out the pan, Elizabeth? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

She then felt the loaves remaining in the pan, then she put 
down the number of loaves that would be required till the 
next day. Rolls, fancy bread, brown bread, plain bread, each 
kind was mentioned. Then she looked into the flour-tub. 


VEGETABLE SOUP. 


75 


“ This will be sufficient till to-morrow, so please put both 
bread and flour away.” 

Elizabeth quickly vanished with these articles, and speedily 
returned. 

“ This cold beef with the vegetables re-warmed, and a plain 
rice pudding without eggs, you will take for the kitchen and 
nursery dinner.” Then, turning to me, Bertha said, “ Should 
you like your little ones to have this, Milly, or shall Elizabeth 
mince some of the meat ? ” 

u No,” I replied ; “ I should infinitely prefer them to have 
it cold with the gravy, so delicious as it is.” 

“ You will get it punctually at one o’clock, if you please,” 
said Bertha to the girl; “ and about this soup, it looks clear 
and nice. I am glad you did not forget to strain it off last 
night, otherwise we should have gone without it to-day. And 
your soup-pot ? ” 

“ I have scalded it out, ma’am, it is quite sweet; and I 
thought this bone of mutton, with the trimmings of the cut¬ 
lets, and a small piece from the end of this beef, which I for¬ 
got to cut off and salt, instead of roasting it, with^ome vege¬ 
tables, will make a pint and a half of soup.” 

“ Yes, that will do very nicely; but don’t put in any vege¬ 
tables excepting carrots.” 

“ Oh, I think vegetables in soup are so nice,” I said. 

“ So they are, Milly, but the}" must be put in at a proper 
time, otherwise you have no flavor excepting a stale, disagree¬ 
able one. Boil the bones and meat for six or eight hours, 
then strain it, Elizabeth, as you have done here. 

“Now then, Milly, this fat on the soup must be completely 
taken off. Mince somewhat small-a couple of turnips, a tiny 
onion, a piece of shallot, and some outside pieces of celery. 
Let the stock boil, Elizabeth, twenty minutes before it is re¬ 
quired for dinner, then throw in the minced vegetables and a 
tiny bit of butter; let the stock and vegetables boil rapidly 
for a quarter of an hour, and, if not sufficiently thick with the 
vegetables, mix a teaspoonful of flour smoothly with cold 
water, and strain it in the soup, and let it simmer up once. 
Then strain it into the soup-tureen, in which you will put the 
toast that was left from breakfast, but first cut it into tiny 
squares, and we shall have excellent vegetable soup. Will 
you recollect this, Elizabeth?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“ If cook were here I should not need to say all this, but 
Elizabeth is inexperienced.” 


76 


HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 


CHAPTER V. 

WASTE OF BREAD-HOW TO BE CHARITABLE WITH IT-DIF¬ 
FERENCE BETWEEN BEING NIGGARDLY AND ECONOMIZING- 

SKILLED SERVANTS CANNOT BE HAD-A MISTRESS MUST 

TEACH THEM — HOW TO WASH SMALL THINGS IN A BOWL. 

During my stay with Bertha I observed that she daily ex¬ 
ercised the same careful supervision over every department of 
the cook’s domain. The waste of bread, almost unavoidable 
in a large establishment like hers, was a source of trouble to 
her. Pieces that were left at table, outsides and dry crusts, 
the servants could not be induced to make into puddings, or 
to dispose of them in any way. Even beggars threw them 
aside; but still the waste was bread, and, as Bertha said, 
ought to feed somebody. 44 If we only had chickens,” she re¬ 
marked one day. 

44 You can give the crusts away to some one who keeps 
them.” 

44 If I give them away they will not bo valued. No, I must 
sell them,” she replied. 

44 You would not be so mean, Bertha,” my color mounting 
to my face with indignation. 

44 Yes, I shall, and induce Betty Rudge, the old miser, to 
buy them. She keeps a number of fowls, and sells her eggs 
dearly enough. The waste here amounts to a large basketful 
in a week; besides, there are other scraps, of which no use is 
made, and I have always found that things which are of no 
value to one’s self, if given away, are not cared for, but if a price 
be asked, if ever so small, the article is then coveted, and 
assumes an importance in the eyes of the buyer. So Betty 
must give me sixpence a week for the waste, and this after¬ 
noon we will hear what Betty has to say about it.” 

44 But why trouble yourself about sixpence or even a shil¬ 
ling a week ? — you do not need it.” 

44 What you say is quite true, but I was bred up to have a 
wholesome regard for the maxim, 4 Waste not,’ and strangely 
enough, if I have ever done so, a time has come when I have 
needed what I have thrown away ; therefore I have a kind of 
superstitiousieeling about waste.” 


HOW TO BE CHARITABLE WITH WASTE BREAD. 


77 


I pondered over all this, and for the first time in my life 
owned to a little contemptuous feeling for Bertha, which, how 
ever, I did not betray. In the afternoon we strolled to Betty’s 
cottage, and, without entering into all the conversation, I may 
as well say here that Betty agreed to give eggs in exchange 
for the waste bread — eggs to the fair value of sixpence a 
week. 

We walked silently on from the cottage. Presentty Bertha 
said, “You don’t yet understand me, Milly; well, so it must 
be. I shall find pensioners enough for my sixpence, though 
I could not for the waste bread.” 

“ But Betty does not even give you the sixpence ; you have 
only eggs in exchange.” 

“You little goose, I must have bought these eggs; there¬ 
fore if I have not a real silver sixpence I have its worth, and 
the sixpence is still mine to give.” This argument was unan¬ 
swerable. We continued our stroll without further reference 
to the subject beyond my asking Bertha why she did not keep 
fowls, her reply being that Robert seemed to dislike the noise 
they made, and yet could not be kept from watching them, 
which rendered him irritable; therefore they 1 had been got 
rid of. 

Presently we came to a pond, at the edge of which two chil¬ 
dren were lying, with their heads hanging over and their hands 
paddling in the water. Whether our appearance had fright¬ 
ened them, or some other cause Jed to the result, I could not 
tell, but the youngest toppled over, with its head deep in the 
weeds, and with its little feet sticking upwards against the 
somewhat steep bank. In one moment Bertha had flown to 
the rescue, the other child screaming with all its might, while 
she pulled the now almost insensible infant from the water. 
Fortunately, it was more frightened than really hurt; and 
after a few moments we ascertained from the elder child that 
they lived “ down there,” pointing to a lane, where, however, 
no house was visible, and that “ mammy was gone out a 
washing,” and that “ father was dead.” “ But come with me 
to the house,” said Bertha; “the child must have fresh 
clothes.” 

“ But she haven’t got any, and mammy tuk the key.” 

Here was a dilemma; the only house in sight was a respect¬ 
able farm-house across the fields; the child’s head and 
shoulders were covered with mud; the water had penetrated 



78 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR., 

through all its garments, and it was wailing in the most pite¬ 
ous tone. 

“ There is no help left for it, Milly; we must go to the 
farm-house ; I know the people there.” 

While saying this she had taken off her light cloth cloak, 
wrapped it round the babe (for it was only a wee toddling 
thing of perhaps sixteen months old), and, bearing it in her 
arms, we reached the comfortable homestead, the brother fol¬ 
lowing us as fast as his little legs would carry him. 

“ Why, whose child have’ee got there, mem? ” was the ex¬ 
clamation of the farmer’s wife, when she saw us; and, taking 
the little frightened creature from Bertha’s arms, a ray of 
intelligence shot through her face as she examined it, and saw 
the boy now just entering the door, calling “Mammy, 
mammy.” 

“ Why, this be Sukey Steevens’s child! Sukey, Sukey, 
come here! ” 

In obedience to this call, a slatternly woman made her 
appearance in great alarm at hearing the cry of her boy, who 
was clinging to her skirts. “ Lard a mercy! what’s the mat¬ 
ter? ” she asked; then, seeing the babe in such a plight in the 
hands of Mrs. Tucker, she turned round and cuffed the ears of 
the boy, savagely asking, “What’s thee been doing to thy 
sister ? ” 

At this the boy roared, the child began to cry, and the 
melee, between the women’s and children’s voices, was likely 
to become unbearable, which Bertha suddenly stopped by sa}'- 
ing to Sukey, — 

“Your children should not be left in this manner; it is a 
mercy one of them is not at the present moment dead. Your 
carelessness amounts to crime.” 

“ It’s all very well for gentlefolks to talk, but what’s poor 
people to do ? ” 

The muddy-face babe looked quite ludicrous ; its tears had 
run down its face, leaving two white channels, so that even 
Bertha could scarcely refrain from smiling. 

“ There, Sukey, go and wash the child an’ its clothes, and 
wrap it up in a blanket till ’tis dry ; it’ll surely catch its death 
of cold,” said Mrs. Tucker. 

Sukey took the hint and vanished, the boy going after her. 
During her absence we learned that the father had died about 
two months since, and that Sukey, not having been a tidy 
careful wife, found difficulty in procuring bread for herself and 


THE SIXPENCE ADVANTAGEOUSLY DISPOSED OF. 79 

little ones; indeed, her chief dependence was upon the farm 
where she was now working. 44 But,” added Mrs. Tucker, 
“ Sukey told me that a neighbor who kept a school for little 
children had the care of her children.” 

Here Sukey came back. “ Why did you leave your children 
so carelessly ? ” asked Bertha. 

u Please, mem, old Mrs. Jones wouldn’t take care of ’em 
’cause I couldn’t leave the pay aforehand ; so I gave ’em some 
bread and butter, and told ’em to play about — the plagues 
that they be ! ” 

“ How much did Mrs. Jones want for taking care of the 
children ? ” 

44 Please, mem, she’d take care of ’em both for sixpence a 
week; but when I only take ’em now and then she wants a 
penny apiece and the money down, and I never have got the 
coppers, for ’tis hard to feed three upon nothing! ” 

44 Does Mrs. Jones live far from here?” 

“No, mem; in the next house beyonst ouPn.” 

44 How do you pay your rent ? ” 

Mrs. Tucker replied that the cottage belonged to them, and 
Sukey had agreed to render two days’ work weekly to clear 
the rent, and sometimes for a week or two together she had no 
other employ, though she always took home food enough to 
last her three or four days. 

44 Suppose I allow Mrs. Jones sixpence a week for taking 
care of your children, could you get other work?” 

44 1 dare say I could, mem, for the children’s a great hin¬ 
drance.” 

44 Well, then, I will see Mrs. Jones on our way back, and I 
hope to hear that you have got employment. You may be 
thankful that the babe is living instead of drowned,” were the 
parting words of Bertha, as we took our leave. 

44 My sixpence is very soon disposed of, Milly.” 

44 But this sum is not much to you, Bertha, whether you 
had sold the waste bread or not.” 

44 Not one single sixpence, perhaps; but how shall I have 
any to give away if I allow waste in my kitchen. I do not 
interfere with the cook’s perquisites in this matter, as she 
could not dispose of the bread, neither "would I suffer it if she 
could, for that would be offering a direct premium to waste, 
and it seems a sin to me to throw bread away ; so with odd 
crusts I have given comfort to four human beings, not to say 
five. First of all, Betty is pleased to exchange eggs for the 


80 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

bread, whereby she thinks herself a gainer; then Sukey must 
be well satisfied, knowing her children are in safety ; and the 
two infants must be better off and happier, poor little things, 
under Mrs. Jones’s care ; and there is Mrs. Jones, who cannot 
but be gratified to add sixpence a week to her income ; so five 
persons, you see, are the better off for our waste crusts.” 

The reasoning was unanswerable. We soon arrived at Mrs. 
Jones’s, whom we found surrounded by a dozen children of all 
sizes, from a twelvemonth old to eight years. The old lady, 
who was exceedingly neat and pleasing looking, was making 
no attempt at teaching. She had a young niece with her who 
attended chiefly to the young creatures, who were trampling 
about and playing without fear or care. Mrs. Jones appeared 
almost scared at our entrance; the children looked at us in 
mute astonishment, and grouped away together in threes and 
fours. Our business with the old lady was very soon settled, 
and she willingly undertook the care of the children when pay¬ 
ment was insured to her, though she asserted that Sukey 
Steevens did owe her u a power o’ coppers.”' 


CHAPTER VI. 

HOW TO MAKE PUDDINGS — HOW TO SAVE IN MAKING THEM- 

TRIFLES DO NOT EXIST IN HOUSE-KEEPING MANAGEMENT-A 

SERVANT’S ALLOWANCE - HOW TO EXPEND TWENTY-SEVEN 

SHILLINGS A WEEK-THE ORDERING OF SEWING-WORK-NO 

BUTTONS OFF SHIRTS-HOW TO WASH SMALL THINGS. 

My stay was not greatly prolonged with Bertha. I returned 
home, taking with me a strong healthy girl, about eighteen, to 
whom my children had been intrusted on my arrival at her 
house. My husband had spent the last ten days with us, so 
that we went back with renovated health and spirits, and with 
some considerable attainment of experience in household mat¬ 
ters. 

. The night before we left I was sitting with Bertha alone ; I 
remarked, “ How different is my income to yours ! ” 

“ You forget how much more we have to accomplish with it. 
Yours is enough for all reasonable purposes ; you cannot dress 
expensively, nor keep company, nor command the services of 



HOW TO MAKE PUDDINGS. 


81 


two domestics — which is no great luxury after all. A friend 
of mine has ten, and, not having a house-keeper to see to them, 
her life is perpetually worried with their contentions and 
bickerings. You can pass through life very happily if you 
will only try, but to do so pleasantly you must be able to 
assist yourself, and, above all, the economy of little things 
must be scrupulously adhered to. Nothing must be wasted. 
It would be quite impossible to give you rules for every or any 
course of action to be adopted — your own judgment must 
guide you. You are more skilled in domestic affairs than 
when you first married, but there is a wide room for improve¬ 
ment, little Milly. You must acquire a more competent 
knowledge of cooking than you have, so as to enable you to 
make the best use of everything. You must be your own 
house-keeper, as I am. You have seen me daily attend Eliza¬ 
beth in the kitchen, who, without my assistance and direction, 
would be as incapable of sending up a dinner properly cooked 
as the girl you take back with you. I have given out to her 
every day all the ingredients necessary for making puddings 
and pastry. If I had intrusted her to help herself to the 
sugar for the tarts, she would have wasted by putting in too 
much, and even an ounce too much of this alone would amount 
to twelve shillings a year; the same by butter, eggs, and 
milk, corn-flour, or arrow-root. You must learn the right 
proportions of every ingredient or material in cooking, or the 
waste will be prodigious and the money will insensibly melt 
away. When Elizabeth came first she told me she could make 
admirable corn-flour puddings. 

44 4 How much do you use?* I asked. 

44 4 One packet will make two puddings, ma’am.’ 

44 1 stared at the girl with astonishment. 

44 4 One packet will make eight good puddings; each pud¬ 
ding must have one egg and a pint and a half of milk,’ said I. 

4 4 4 Why, that quantity would be lost in the saucepan!’ 
she replied. 

44 4 Have no saucepan at all, then — using one is a wasteful 
way of making your pudding. Weigh the corn-flour, put it 
into the dish, grate into it a little nutmeg, and then mix it 
with a little cold milk, just as you would if you were making 
starch. Make a pint of milk boil, then pour it on the cold 
mixture, stir it up well, beat up one egg and two ounces of 
moist sugar with the remainder of the milk, then strain it to 
the pudding, mixing it well altogether, and bake it.’ 


82 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

u Elizabeth succeeded well after this, and at once sixpence 
was saved from waste. This fact alone will show you how 
waste is insensibly made. A manufacturer makes his experi¬ 
ments, and, if success crown his efforts, he endeavors to pro¬ 
duce an article at the lowest possible cost consistent with 
excellence. The same principle should be carried out in the 
kitchen. Waste benefits no one, but, on the contrary, the 
servant or mistress is greatly demoralized by the habit of 
wasting; to such an one there is never enough. You must not 
mistake me, Milly *, a half-pound of butter would not be de¬ 
liberately thrown away; but I have known many servants 
waste more than an ounce at a time either by making melted 
butter badly, or through carelessness burning it, or by using 
too much. Sixpence a week in loss goes there — twenty-six 
shillings a year. Again, in the simple article of firewood, 
Bridget was a famous waster of that article ; although in 
j your neighborhood it is rather an expensive item in house¬ 
keeping, enough was always heaped on to light one fire, that 
would amply suffice for three. You may smile, Milly, but it 
is in little things that money melts. You would look at six¬ 
pence twice before you threw it awaj^, but this is constantly 
done in small matters — a kind of waste whereby incomes are 
silently diminished. You will learn this in time.” 

“ I shall learn many things in time, Bertha, but I shall 
never learn to be a niggard.” 

“ To be saving is not to be niggardly. If you come home 
weary and wet-footed, and will take no proper stimulant, nor 
have a fire to warm you, because of the expense, this is to be 
niggardly. If you will not allow your servants proper food, 
fire, and washing, on account of the expense, or prevent them 
from having a proper fire to cook by, or necessary materials 
to use, this is to be niggardly and wasteful at the same time. 
But to take care that they have sufficient for their use, and no 
more , to see that the fire is lowered after the cooking is over, 
that candles are not flared away, or gas lighted at improper 
times, that soap is not left soaking in the water, or cinders 
thrown away, or wood wastefully burned, is no niggardliness, 
but right and true economy, and by caring for which you do 
justice to yourself and act rightly towards your servants. It 
is all very well for people who have more income than they 
need to permit waste if it so pleases them, but it is not the 
less sinful towards their fellow-creatures. Their servants are 
influenced by their example, and, instead of carrying economy 


THE RETURN HOME. 


83 


as a dower to their husbands, bring them habits of wasteful¬ 
ness. If in large establishments a good house-keeper is an 
invaluable treasure in the domestic department, how much 
more must such be in the person of a wife to a man with a 
small income! ” 

44 How serious you are about trifles, Bertha! ” 

“There are no such things as trifles. 4 Trifles make the 
sum of human things ; ’ 4 minutes the hour, hours the day, and 
days the year/ 4 Without the pence no pounds can be made/ 
A trifle, if you will have it so, leads to death. The smallest 
theft makes the thief; a sudden blow, a murderer. Then 
what are trifles ? ” 

Here we were interrupted by my husband, who wished to 
know if we intended sitting up all night. The next day found 
us at home, where everything at first seemed in confusion. 
Bridget was to stay a week to get the girl into the ways of the 
house ; but, poor Bridget, she only got us all into a muddle. 
She had been her own mistress for some time, and all disci¬ 
pline and order had been forgotten. I was glad when she 
went. It was days and weeks before I made any progress in 
house-keeping beyond my usual habits. Mary was a helpful 
girl. She at once asked me for her weekly allowance, a term 
I did not understand. 

44 My usual butter and tea and sugar, ma’am,” was the 
reply, in answer to my inquiring look. 

44 What have you been accustomed to have?” said I. 

44 A quarter of a pound of tea, half a pound of butter, and 
I have always had a shilling a week for extra.” 

44 But you can use from that which I give out,” said I. 

44 Sometimes you may think I do not make it go far enough, 
and I would rather you would give me my own if it made no 
difference to you, ma’am.” 

I considered the matter over, and found Mary was right; 
her suggestion brought me comfort. She had what she needed 
on a Monday morning, and I had no further trouble with her 
requirements all the week. As she had no access to my stores, 
I could not but be satisfied. I gave out each morning every¬ 
thing that was required for consumption during the day, and 
I saw that everything was in its place. It was labor to me at 
first, and most especially was it vexatious to be obliged to 
give up playing with my children to attend to this most essen¬ 
tial duty; but the habit soon grew into a pleasure, for, no 
matter how I might be occupied, or where I might go, I had 


84 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

no fear but that the meals at home were right. Gradually I 
found that, by close attention to trifles, I was ultimately en¬ 
abled to appear a very liberal house-keeper; indeed, “ extrav¬ 
agant ” was the gratuitous title I earned. By close attention 
to the trifles I once despised, I was enabled to make twenty- 
seven shillings a week go as far as I once could treble that 
amount. 

I need not say that I had no margin for waste ; indeed, to 
purchase the needful requirements of wear and tear of furni¬ 
ture and house linen, and also to pay the washing bills, both 
myself and husband were obliged to give up a portion of the 
money originally set by for clothes. The children began to 
get expensive, and still their requirements had to be met. I 
learned the art of dress-making from one who came to make 
up the children’s dresses ; if I had not, I could not have man¬ 
aged to put out the work. Once in two years I got a silk 
dress, and that well made; this was the extent of my extrav¬ 
agance. 

In fact, I found the only way to manage was to make my¬ 
self acquainted with every useful household art; and amid all 
this call upon my time and energy, at every spare moment 
I assiduously practised my music, which was fast slipping 
through my fingers ; I also cultivated the talent I possessed 
for sketching. No motive short of educating my children, 
which, of course, I was obliged to do, would have enabled me 
to bear this extra strain upon my time and temper. I should 
say here that my husband’s health, which had never been 
strong enough to follow his profession, gave way when my 
eldest child was six years old. He became afflicted with a 
spinal complaint, which laid him nearly prostrate for the space 
of eight years, and during this sad time all our available re¬ 
sources were needed. 

The eight shillings a week, resulting from the £20 per an¬ 
num which we had reserved as a fund for emergencies, was all 
expended in what was absolutely required to meet his case. 
The most skilful economy alone enabled me to keep out of 
debt. Had I been in the country it would have been alto¬ 
gether another thing, but in London all eatables were expen¬ 
sive, though London had an equivalent advantage in that we 
were not obliged to know any one. There was no one that 
we cared about to whom our servant could tell that we had 
only potatoes and bacon for dinner, or cold meat more than 
two days following; though certainly the latter circumstance 


ABOUT EXPENDITURE. 


85 


did not happen very often, for experience taught me that cold 
meat was a heartless meal, excepting now and then, when a 
salad or fried potatoes made it, perhaps, more agreeable than 
a hot dinner. However, we lived unknown and unsought ex¬ 
cept by our kind friends, the Grays, who too nearly resembled 
ourselves for them to be critical about our doings. 

I educated my children myself, and in doing so found great 
delight. Each year my troubles seemed to grow less, for I 
became economical not only of money and money’s worth, but 
of time also, as my husband needed the greatest care and at¬ 
tention. We scrupulously kept up the insurance upon his life 
for the £ 500 , though each j^ear the payment was increased. 
As I mentioned before, I learned to do everything n^self, so 
that I was, in a measure, independent of skill in a servant. 
I changed often — this was unavoidable ; each went away “ to 
better herself,” to be succeeded by incompetence, and, too 
frequently, idleness. 

The changes came so frequently (servants had altogether 
altered from those of Bridget’s days ; they found it so dull, or 
they could not rise early, or always wanted to be running 
out), that I insensibly made up my mind that these miseries 
were fast becoming an established order of things, and re¬ 
solved to bear them as unruffled as I could. Even Bertha 
Chapman complained that since the death of poor Robert, 
things in her domestic menage had altered. Two of her most 
trusted servants had married, and she could not replace them ; 
several were tried, but were not equal to their duties. “ There 
is no help for this,” she wrote, “ but for mistresses to educate 
themselves so as to teach their helps.” 

I had long ago found this out, and for so long as I had my 
health all went on well. But I felt pity always for every 
mother in delicate health, a prey to her servants in her un¬ 
comfortable home. There were comfort and peace and love 
in our dwelling, albeit the sickness of my beloved husband 
greatly overshadowed our joys. 

My experience of the past has been, that had I set out in 
life with but a trifle of reliable practice in domestic matters, 
such as I afterwards taught myself, and with moderate aspir¬ 
ing as to any position which two hundred a year income would 
warrant, and that had I, or had we both, set out with sufficient 
moral courage to despise shams, and not have endeavored to 
appear otherwise than we were, — persons of very moderate 
income, — we might have been spared much misery. Even 


86 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

had I been brought up to have known the prices of food be¬ 
fore I entered upon marriage, we should not have made a false 
start in the world. 

As to economy, if a rasping of bread or a cold potato can 
be made available, let it be used, not thrown away. To cook 
food nicely does not consist in the multitude or costliness of 
the ingredients used, but in the proper distribution of actual 
requisites, in the knowledge of the time necessary for the 
cooking, and in the temperature of the water or milk in which 
such food is to be cooked. 

An intimate acquaintance with needle-work of every descrip¬ 
tion is absolutely necessary to the mistress of a limited in¬ 
come, — dress and frock-making especially, — which should 
either be learned as an art, or acquired from a dress-maker, 
wiio may be called in to assist. A work-basket is a fruitful 
source of misery ; its contents have a habit of accumulating, 
and causing a depressing influence upon the temper and 
spirits. 

What is to be done should be quickly done. 

No garment with buttons or tapes off, or with rents or tat- 
, ters, should be placed away in a drawer, but be mended the 
very first opportunity — now, if possible ; it is a duty to be 
performed before pleasure. Stockings and socks should not 
be allowed to come into holes — thin places are easily mend¬ 
ed. I hope I maj' not be considered dictatorial in thus insist¬ 
ing upon this very necessary observance, but I have suffered 
from procrastination in these very matters, and the obtaining 
of new articles of any kind was in my early days a matter of 
difficulty. The looking out the linen on Mondays was at first 
a worrying trouble to me, and I trusted this matter frequently 
to a servant, till the constant disputes with the laundress, and 
the loss of several articles, led me to perform this duty my¬ 
self. Every Monday morning, as soon as breakfast was over, 
the servant brought the linen to the kitchen, where she sorted 
it over in my presence, and I wrote it down, taking care to 
specify what kind the articles were — linen or calico. The 
clean things were then taken from the basket, every button and 
tape tried, and all put upon the clothes-horse to air, before 
putting them away in the drawers. It took something less 
than half an hour to do this. The remainder of the morning 
till one o’clock was spent in repairing all fractures and other 
needs. I never in my life mended dirty linen, no matter how 
much it was torn. 


HOW TO WASH SMALL THINGS. 


87 


When my babes were young, after they had gone to bed I 
shook out and hung upon a clothes-horse all the garments they 
were to put on the next day, whether clean ones or otherwise, 
each little one’s clothes by itself; and many a time have I 
washed out their little socks in the hand-basin in my own 
room, which saved much accumulation of these small affairs. 
My collars and cuffs I washed and ironed myself, and also 
many little matters of lace and muslin for the children. The 
process I adopted was a somewhat rapid one, and involved 
but slight labor. I threw a little borax into some cold water, 
and when the former was dissolved I put in over night the 
articles I designed to wash. The next morning I kneaded 
them well with my hands, wrung them out, and soaped them 
into tepid water, in which also was a little borax, not soda. 
The dirt easily came out; I rinsed them well in slightly blue 
water, in which some alum was dissolved to prevent accident 
from fire (as alum prevents flame), and partially dried them; 
then made some thin starch, by mixing two teaspoonfuls or 
one of starch in two tabic-spoonfuls of cold water ; then poured 
boiling water upon it, stirring it all the time, till it was of the 
consistence of well-made arrowroot. While the starch was 
hot I put in the articles to be stiffened, and let them stay in 
lor ten minutes, or even more, then wrung them as dry as I 
could in my hand, and then each article again in a clean cloth, 
thus preventing the starch from sticking to the iron, and ren¬ 
dering the lace or collars clear instead . of muddy-looking. 
After squeezing them hard in the cloth, each article was shak¬ 
en out, and laid separately in a cloth, and folded up tight, 
ready for ironing. It is astonishing how much expense I 
saved in my laundress’s bills, by continuing often to wash 
some little thing, at a time when I appeared to be only wash¬ 
ing my hands. 

This little employment never made me the less fit to be 
seen ; in preparing for it I did no more than pin a towel be¬ 
fore me, — a jug of hot water and white curd soap (I never 
would destroy the color and skin of my hands by using other 
kinds), and with a very little borax, I managed to have a great 
deal of comfort and clean trifles in clothes, without the machin¬ 
ery by which I obtained it being observed. 


88 


HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 


CHAPTER VII. 

% 

THE ART OP DRESSING IN GOOD TASTE — ALICE’S ACCOMPLISH¬ 
MENTS -A HUSBAND AND FATHER’S DEATH-HIS INCOME 

DIES WITH HIM-THE VALUE OF AN INSURANCE-FUTURE 

EMPLOYMENT-ALICE AND EDWARD’S MARRIAGE. 

There is one tiling which I should mention as part of my 
acquired experiences, — the art of dressing in good taste. 

If I purchased an inexpensive material, I did not call atten¬ 
tion to the fact by overloading it with trimming and paltry 
lace, but it was well shaped, and well made, and simply 
trimmed, so that by this means it escaped particular notice. 
I also avoided buying anything with otherwise than the most 
simple pattern on it. I had no desire to be known at any 
distance by my dress. The plainest, richest silk — generally 
black — was my best dress; and the exquisite, fine, soft, 
silky black alpaca my home and evening dress. There is no 
pretension about the latter material — it is at once suitable 
and pleasing to the eye, and may be worn by a duchess with¬ 
out deteriorating from her acknowledged good taste. The 
same by bonnets — of a good material, but so simple and 
plain, though always of the best shape, that they were gen¬ 
erally becoming. I maj^ observe that my style of dress, 
which from its excessive plainness disarmed criticism, was 
studiously acquired. ? 

My frequent change of servants — from tlieir own choice, 
not mine — led me to give up the contentious point respecting 
exuberance in their dress. So long as thc}^ were tidily clad 
while attending upon my family, I permitted them to u flaunt 
in gay attire ” as much as they pleased when absent from me. 
For some time I mourned their folly and reasoned with them 
upon the bad tendency of their excessive vanity without mak¬ 
ing otherwise than an ill impression upon them, sulkiness 
being generally the result. However, they lost and I gained, 
for I became almost severe in the pattern and style of my own 
dress. An amplitude of fold, and a rich or otherwise most 
simple material, marked in dress the contrast between mj^self 
and my servants. To expatiate here on the folly of servants 
dressing so extravagantly is not to my present purpose, 


Alice’s accomplishments. 


89 


though I have often wished sumptuary laws were in force to 
compel them to attire themselves in a manner becoming to 
their station, or that their wages might be partially devoted 
to the savings banks, as a little future provision against sick¬ 
ness or other casualties. 

My children grew up to be dutiful and loving. Alice, 
before her father’s death, became my right hand ; she was an 
excellent little cook, a methodical house-keeper — in fact, a 
domestic treasure. I was determined that no self-made thorny 
path should be hers; hence she was carefully instructed in 
every petty detail of house-keeping, even to the salting of 
meat and the baking of bread; what she did at all was 
thoroughly done. This “ thorougli-goingness ” was part of her 
nature; she did not inherit the “ that-ll-do ” system, but 
shook it off with a determined effort, and kept it at a 
distance. 

Alice was a pleasing reader; she also played with taste and 
expression, and she sketched from nature with a firm touch, 
which at one time led me to think might be turned to a pro¬ 
fessional account; this, on its being broached, she shrank 
from with undisguised aversion, but she nevertheless kept up 
the practice of all her acquirements with undiminished ardor, 
which led me to infer that she saw some necessity for it. Every 
summer’s morning found her at six o’clock reading and study¬ 
ing for an hour and a half; then she went into the garden and 
busied herself for an hour, coming in with glowing cheeks and 
the brightest of smiles. She was the ministering angel in our 
home. I had accustomed her from her earliest years to wait 
upon herself, and as much as possible upon her father and me 
also. The thought had never entered my brain to save her 
trouble ; therefore, year by year, she more and more filled my 
place in all domestic affairs. She learned to cut out and 
make all her clothes, and with an aptitude of contrivance 
quite foreign to my nature. I had perfect rest and peace as 
to her future, should she ever be left alone in the world ; not 
that I could presume she would be exempt from trouble, sick¬ 
ness, or privations, but I felt she would be prepared to meet 
them, and therefore would suffer less than if she were an igno¬ 
rant untaught girl. 

We were one clay conversing upon the different degrees of 
happiness which women especially experienced, even when 
they set out from the same point in life. “ I do not think it 
possible to be very unhappy,” said she, “ if we make the best 

* a* 


90 


HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 




of our means, whether they be little or great.” 44 But suppose 
you don’t know how to make the best of everything ? ” 44 Why, 

in that case there must be misery for the wife, the children, 
and the husband. I sometimes think I shall be 4 somebody * 
some day, mamma; and that is why I practice so much every 
accomplishment I know. I should not like directly I was 
married to give up my piano, my singing, and my drawing, 
and so bury myself away, giving no joy to my bright little 
home which I am sure 1 shall one day have.” 

44 But, Alice, darling, if papa should not live. Every day, 
my child, is one of fear with me. What is to be done then? 
Papa has only the use of our income for his life.” The child’s 
face blanched with terror. She sat looking at me as one 
stricken with horror. At last the words came, — 

“What do you mean, mamma? Papa has not been 
worse for some years, and how does he get the money, 
then ? ” 

44 My child, your papa’s brain has been gradually softening 
for now two years ; and Dr. Milward assured me the other day 
that the end could not be far off. 4 One month of sad suffer¬ 
ing you will see, and then-’ was all he uttered ; and may 

God give me strength to pass through this, the worst of all 
my trials ! Alice, my sleep is disturbed, my attention always 
on the rack, listening for the incoherent sounds which prob¬ 
ably will come from your dear father’s lips, before he is lost 
to us.” 

44 Mamma, dear mamma, think not of this ; the end may be 
far distant.” 

44 God grant it! ” was all I could then say. 

In one short month from this, though nothing had occurred 
to mark that approach which we all dreaded so much, I had 
left my husband apparently sweetly sleeping ; the doctor came 
unexpectedly and watched him for some minutes; he then 
lifted his eyelids — the eye was rigid, though bright. Dr. 
Milward called for a lighted candle, and held it close to the 
eye ; no movement took place ; and in twelve hours from this 
time my husband was no more, my children were fatherless, 
and myself a widow. These are words soon spoken, but to 
realize them in their full extent is the concentrated bitterness 
of life. > 

My tale is drawing to a close. I had now no two hundred 
a year to manage, — and how to manage with it was all I was 
requested to write about, — but my readers who have gone so 



WIDOWHOOD AND NO INCOME. 


91 


far with me will perhaps be interested in knowing something 
about our after life. Mrs. Gray came to us in our dark hour 
of sorrow, as did my parents also. AVith the latter we re¬ 
moved to my early home — alas ! to me no home now. My 
boy had been one year apprenticed to an old friend of his 
father’s when our great trouble overshadowed us. Enough 
money was realized by the sale of our furniture to pay our 
good kind doctor, and with the five hundred pounds obtained 
from the insurance company an annuity was purchased for 
me. The house which for seventeen years I had but seldom 
seen since I married from it, was not the home of my youth; 
my sisters and brothers filled it, and I felt myself an inter¬ 
loper. My income would not suffice for me to live alone with 
Alice, neither would Alice stay with my parents without me. 
My past experience had educated me for something better 
than idleness, and I wished to obtain some useful position, 
where some one at least might be helped through my knowl¬ 
edge so dearly obtained. 

My sisters — three of them — were just no better than I had 
been when I married. My mother still toiled for them, still 
hoped to see them marry either men in their own position or 
above them. My remonstrances — nay, entreaties — to them 
to render themselves self-helpful were in vain ; they had never 
experienced a care or thought for the future, — a system of 
education too frequently adopted by parents, which leads not 
unfrequently to crime in married life, — therefore my sugges¬ 
tions were treated as out of place, and my conduct as interfer¬ 
ing and dominant. “ Let them alone,” my mother would say ; 
“ they will learn time enough.” 

How bitterly I felt her words ! My dower, truly, had been 
to learn the ways of life — but at what a cost! It was of no 
use contesting the matter, so I gave it up in despair. I sent 
an advertisement to the Times describing myself as a useful 
house-keeper. In due time it was answered by a lady who 
had the care of four orphan nieces. She herself was unmarried, 
but had been called upon suddenly to take possession of her 
deceased brother’s household, he having been a widower only 
a year. Miss Arkwright had never kept house, and disliked 
all domestic ties ; nevertheless by her brother’s will she was 
left guardian to his children, with so much personal income 
as long as she resided in the house with them. For herself 
she was a kind of missionary lady, alwaj^s begging money for 
some scheme which was to assist regenerating the heathen, 


I 

92 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £20C A YEAR. 

while, alas! thousands of heathen existed within walking 
reach. 

Miss Arkwright’s letter explained all that she needed of me 
— to manage the servants, to see that the children were nicely 
kept and watched, and to have the house always comfortable 
of an evening when she arrived: her duties taking her from it 
the whole day. 

My parents were exceedingly angry when they heard of my 
determination. Alice, with tearful eyes, implored me to 
renounce the idea of servitude, as she termed it; but to each 
and all I answered, “ L can only forget my trouble in active 
exertion, in being obliged to think for others ; ” and so I was 
allowed to have my own way. To Alice I pointed out the 
advantages my income would give herself and brother. 

u Not to myself, mamma, will there be any advantage ; for 
Edward let your sacrifice be made.” 

“But, Alice, I cannot let you live here without paying for 
vour board.” 

“ Mamma, I intend to go into a school, where I may obtain 
lessons for my services.” 

“Have you counted the cost, Alice?” I asked. Can you 
sqbmit to the discipline — the monotonous duties of school 
routine ? ” 

“ Mamma, is this question asked with your usual judg¬ 
ment?” she reproachfully questioned. “You have all your 
lifetime been instilling into me that duty cannot be laid down 
at will unfulfilled, or put aside for a future time; and now, 
when the first real duty of life presents itself, do you think 
me a coward or incompetent, or what is it, mamma?” 

“I think nothing of the kind, Alice. I merely think that, 
as you have the choice of work or play, it were as well to 
weigh the consequences of each ; and which ever you prefer, it 
is my most earnest wish to see you happy in the choice you 
make.” 

“ Mamma, as you have succeeded in obtaining a situation, 
•will you kindly insert an advertisement for me ? was all the 
answer I obtained. 

Thus our destinies were settled, we both dwelt in other 
homes, and from this time I can date my prosperity in life. 
Both Alice and I were fitted for our positions; we gave full 
satisfaction each in our several employments, and received in 
return the most unbounded confidence and esteem. Alice, at 
twenty-six, married well; an ample settlement was made upon 


INSURANCE - DOMESTIC EDUCATION. 


93 


her, subject only to fifty pounds a year being taken from it, 
and secured to me during my life. Edward about the same 
time entered into partnership with the gentleman with whom 
he had been so many years, and from that hour gave me a 
fixed yearly sum sufficient to have supported me, and which to 
this day nothing can induce him to reassume, although he has 
married, and a young family have their claims upon him. I 
, am living with the youngest of the family of the Arkwrights ; 
all the rest are married; the eldest married my boy. Miss 
Arkwright left me £100 a year — all her income ; and Dora, 
her youngest pet, declares that nothing shall induce her to 
leave her own “ Minnie.” She insists upon it that, as Ruth 
followed Naomi of old, so will she never leave, never forsake 
me. 

She is but twenty — we shall see. 


THE CONCLUSION. 

WORK FOR EACH DAT IN THE WEEK. 

I haye pondered over the pages which I have wrttten, and 
certainly all my experiences are there set dow'n. The only 
margin in the expenditure which could be allowed is in the 
article of insurance. The £25 yearly to be taken into the in¬ 
come, if a policy of insurance w r ere not effected, would give 
something less than 10s. a week extra. This sum, when one is 
bound to live so very economical^, might be done without, to 
secure the advantages which w^ould arise from it in after life. 
To make her ow r n happiness, I would earnestly advise every 
girl to educate herself for a domestic life as assiduously as she 
does to play and sing, and by no means, when she has attained 
the latter acquirements, to allow them to slip away out of her 
grasp for want of practice. From the moment a bride takes 
possession of her house her chief duties in life commence ; it 
is hers to form her machinery for action, to keepdt in working 
gear, and to so ornament it by her ow r n graces and accom¬ 
plishments that the wheels and other motive power be hidden. 
A woman who means to play her part well, in ever so humble , 



94 HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON £200 A YEAR. 

a home, must be a good manager, so that every duty shall 
have its allotted time — not one duty be huddled upon 
another. Be also a good financier, so as to make not only 
every penny do its work, but occasionally the work of two; 
and be a good diplomatist, for concord and comfort and a 
pleasant life should be the result of her management. 

During the progress of this article through the press it has 
been suggested to me to give definite rules for doing the work 
of a house each day. I could not see that this was possible, 
any more than I could give a mean calculation of how much 
cloth it would take to make boys’ clothes in general, or how 
many bricks it would take to build a house of no definite size. 
Unless I knew the circumstances of each individual this would 
be useless. The week’s work was thus divided and arranged 
in my own house : — 

Monday. — Linen day and mending. 

Tuesday. — Washing and ironing; kitchen and scullery 
scrubbing. » 

Wednesday. — Scouring bright tins and dish-covers. 

Thursday. — Scrubbing out closets, cupboards, and larder 
and kitchens. 

Friday. — Pastry making; passages and hall cleaning; 
one sitting-room thoroughly. 

Saturday. — The second sitting-room thoroughly ; a gen¬ 
eral scrubbing and thorough cleaning. 

One bedroom was thoroughly cleaned on each day of the 
week, and others slightly swept with a soft brush and duster 
every day. Stairs thoroughly swept twice a week, aud slightly 
every day. 

By these means the whole house was cleaned throughout 
every week. But without mistress and maid are early risers 
— the latter being down stairs at six o’clock and the mistress 
at seven — all this work cannot be accomplished; and one 
thing I would mention, that a servant should never be kept up 
after ten o’clock at night. 

Of course I do not say that these I have enumerated were 
all the duties to be performed ; but they are the chief in every 
house. On Sunday I had as little work done as it was possi¬ 
ble. We dined at tw r o o’clock. After three 1 suffered the 
servant to go out till eight o’clock. The tea I arranged 
myself, and I gave the girl, at every convenient time, as much 
holiday as I possibly could ; not that I was served better by 


HOLIDAY TO SERVANTS. 


95 

this arrangement, but, on the contrary, frequently worse; but 
then it was a duty I owed her, and, whether she were grateful 
or not, it would not take from my imperative duty towards 
each and all of my fellow-creatures, namely, — 

To do as I would be done by. 


THE END. 



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